Sacrum Sensualis
by FanSlewFantasy
Summary: Italy and Germany take a holiday in a small village, only to have a most unwelcome visitor. A competition for love ensues. GermanyxItalyxHRE love triangle. Oneshot divided into four parts. BL, M for a reason. Full warning etc inside.
1. Chapter 1

**~SACRUM SENSUALIS ~**  
>A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction*Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011<br>_GermanyxItalyxHoly Roman Empire _***R21*  
>~THREESOME~SOFT RAPE~BONDAGE~ORAL~'TOYS'~<strong>

…

_OH… WOW. _

_This fic took a long, long time to write. _

_It was difficult, mostly because I wanted to get it totally flawlessly perfect, as it was for a wonderful, brilliant friend of mine who requested it ages ago… I think I wrote and then re-wrote it seven or eight times? And theres about thrity size eight times new roman pages of out-takes as well, I cut from this, and oh god… someone should stop me. -.- ANYWAY. It was hard as well because the porn is a little more risqué and a little less fluff than usual. That being said, im kind of proud of it. :3 I hope it is satisfactory… I had big struggles getting it done. _

_But, it finally is. Its posted in three parts for the simple reason it was too big to post singularly, although its supposed(!) to be a one-shot. Enjoy!_

_Nor, this is your one, in case you haven't figured it out yet. ;D *hugs*_**  
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…

Where will you be, rosemary in time… what will you feel on your way to Tuscany… don't let this world throw you down… stay true to your heart, 'cause love is free… its free.

…

**PROLOGUE**

Rufina.

A small municipality a little way side from Firenze, nestled in the rolling valleys and hills of Tuscany. It was a pretty township. About as Italian as they came, with low, suntanned stone buildings and twenty or so wineries embellishing the surrounding countryside. Cyprus and olive trees, exuding a heavy sweet perfume, were plentiful. A tall church steeple broke the glowing line of roves along the horizon. The shops were closed, the sun high in the sky at the height of siesta, and the single man brave or foolish enough to stride down cobbled streets was sweating in his neat black jeans and polo shirt, damp crescents in his underarms, sweat sticking blonde bangs to a chiselled face. His sunglasses, large and bronzed in the lenses, reflected light. Locals who lounged on porches in the shade watched him passed by with blunt curiosity. His skin was white, singeing in the harsh Italian sun. His hair was the colour of gold. No tan, no shorts, and a very confident purposeful walk, he was obviously a foreigner. Most likely from somewhere north, where pale blonde hair was not an oddity at which to oggle.

The tobacconists.

It caught his attention as he walked by, the only shop he had seen so far that was open. Small and cramped, magazines were practically spilling out of the door. Ducking inside, he found he struggled to stand straight, the roof was low and the press of books either side prevented him walking straight forward. He turned side on, having to sideways scuttle to the counter. Upon seeing him, the old woman there pulled a face, but it quickly melted away when, in flawless Italian, he asked

"_Could you direct me to the casa di montagna please?"_

"_Sí_. _You walk down this road, cross the bridge and follow the main path up the hill." _She gestured behind her loosely, fingers waving in speech. _It's at the top. You will know when you get there, there's a sign."_

The stranger nodded and dug in his pocket for a crumpled five euro bill.

"Grazie."

He dropped it on the counter with an impersonal air of superiority when he left.

…


	2. Chapter 2

"Wow… Ludwig that was incredible." Feliciano Vargas lay flat on his back in the bed, wearing an expression entirely appropriate for a man who had glimpsed heaven. "That was better than incredible. That was just _amazing_. You are soooooo good…"

The German man he was addressing blushed and scratched his brow uncomfortably. "Well I-"

"You have to do that for me more often, okay? Can you again tonight maybe, before we go to sleep? I can return the favour." Feliciano opened his eyes and gave Ludwig a sweet smile. It was like golden syrup, glowing and trickling and winning. Poor Ludwig never had a chance.

"…okay." He conceded awkwardly. "Sure. I would be happy to."

He smoothed his apron, reached for the now empty mug the Italian gripped in his hand, and peeked inside to make sure there were no rings on it he had missed the first time around. Making hot chocolate was something Ludwig had learnt to be good at, whether he liked it or not. His brother's secret sweet tooth was monstrous. He was privately very much flushed with pride that Feliciano thought his beverages were 'incredible', but was not about to divulge this.

"Yay! Thanks Germany." Feli rolled onto his stomach, pulling clean white sheets with him, and glanced at the clock on his side table. It read just after three. "Wow… I slept late didn't I?"

"Ja, but it's okay. I cleaned the house while you were resting. Tonight we can go out for dinner, if you like."

A small pout graced the Italian mans face. "Ludwig I told you not to clean when we are on holiday. You know I pay a guy to do that."

Yes, Germany thought tightly. An _Italian _guy. The sort of seedy looking fellow with a moustache, who swept the dust under the mat, nicked a piece of cheese from the fridge when he thought no-one was looking and then left on his merry way, wad of cash in hand.

"Well, I like cleaning, its okay. Besides, I did your laundry and found forty Euros worth of coins down the back of the chaise."

Italy's eyebrows flew up. "Forty Euros? That's a lot."

"I know. So like I said, we should go out for dinner." The German allowed a small, rare smile to crack his lips. "You said there was a good pizza place near here, didn't you?"

Feliciano giggled and nodded. "Yup." The sheets rustled and he slipped out of bed, holding one up as modesty more for Germanys benefit, than his own. Soft soled, prettily tanned feet padded on the uneven terracotta tiles. He sighed happily and gazed around the large, undecorated room. It was only one maybe two weeks a year he visited this place, but he loved it all the same.

White stone walls and small windows with shutters, tiled floors and electric lights installed years ago, that gave off only the lowest balmy glow come evening. It was cool, when the summer heat drew to high, and it was cosy in an airy, natural sort of way. Beyond the festive green wooden door to his bedroom (of ancient wood and hanging slightly crooked on its hinges) a lounge room, no television, with a sofa a stack of magazines and a giant open fire range on which many years ago he had cooked. Before Germany had been by his side. The kitchen too, and Germanys room, all still had that five hundred year old charm. Even the smell of the countryside around here, as individual and intricate as a fingerprint, was classic. The vineyard consisting of three small rows of grapes out back was his home legacy, the wine press in the cellar pulling godly nectar for his indulgence every year. He adored it, it was his most untouched and valuable last piece of traditional home.

Which of course was why it had been such a huge thing, inviting Ludwig along. No-other nation, save his brother, knew about his secret little retreat. None other could appreciate it, too caught up in the now and the future, totally forgetting about the peaceful, fragrant of the past. He simply didn't trust anyone else to keep his secret, this little glittering heart he clung to, but Germany… Germany was different.

Or at least, he had thought.

It wasn't, he reflected as he waved the tall pale man out of his room, that he didn't like having him around. Because he did. He adored it. It was juts he felt that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. It was evident after two days in the place that Ludwig was not cut out for such a languid, carefree life in the sun. Always cleaning, always running around trying to find something to do. The fellow was just too discontent to sit on the porch for five hours and gaze at the valley. He didn't appreciate the warmth of the sun on his skin or the taste of wine on his lips. This understanding filled Italy with a soft ache of sadness. He had brought the German with in the hopes he could relax a little, change his mind, but clearly that was not happening. And a few weeks in Tuscany wasn't about to change that.

Next year he might just come alone.

A little upset, Feliciano got changed into a tee and some shorts, brushing his hair briefly and then casting his paddle brush onto the bed. His friend was too distant. Too worrisome. And frankly too confusing. Italy had always sort of thought he knew the man, but after a really awkward silent flight from Berlin to Pisa, during which neither could find a satisfactory middle ground topic to converse about, Italy had realised the only thing he knew about the fellow is that he made killer hot chocolate.

That was it.

In turn he suspected Germany knew nothing of him, and so the sobering conclusion was drawn that perhaps the two had not been so compatible after all, and that all his private little hopes that one day the blonde beauty would profess undying, wildly passionate love to him was unfounded. Apparently that proposal earlier in the century had been a false hope.

Feliciano mentally kicked himself again for saying no, and pulled his hair into a loose pony. It wasn't quite long enough, but it worked alright. When he padded out the bedroom and to the kitchen, he could hear Ludwig washing dishes. They didn't have any dirties, but it wouldn't surprise Feli if the other had just taken the clean ones from the cupboard only to wash them all again, one by one.

"Ve, Ludwig, I'm going for a walk to the village up the top of the hill to buy bread for supper. Will you come?"

"No thanks," Ludwig remembered the day before, when a two hour vertical walk in 38 degree heat to the pinnacle of the hill had taken them to a small place of three houses and a co-op, and decided he'd really rather not. It wasn't the exercise he struggled with, it was the heat.

Ludwig was strangled by the heat.

Feliciano sighed and moped out the door without a word of goodbye. He had some change in his pocket, enough for a couple of loaves, and maybe a kinder bar or two for his walk back.

Ludwig winced when the door slammed behind him. He stopped scrubbing at a stubborn stain on a coffee mug and rubbed his brow with a soapy hand.

"Feli…" he sighed and threw his scrubbing brush into the water. "Don't be like that…"

But Italia Veneziano did not hear him. He was to busy, drifting morosely down the drive and longing for his Germany to chase after him, just for once.

…

At the knock on the door, Germany looked up from his novel, glasses sliding down his nose, small cup of coffee beside him steaming patiently. It had been half an hour since Italy left, and he was more than astonished as to why he was back do early. Surely, there hadn't been a bus running today, and yesterday the walk had been over an hour on foot just to get there.

Maybe it had been too hot, and he had come home early.

Sighing, Ludwig dragged himself off the sofa, not surprised Italy had forgotten the key, and clomped through the house over cracked old tiles to the front door. At least he would get a chance to properly apologise to Feli now. Then they could go to the pizza shop together and have a nice evening after all. After all, the young Italian had put a lot of effort and hopes into this holiday. Ludwig wanted to make him feel it had been worth it.

And besides, he may not have liked the heat or the lazy sort of mood of this place, but he truly adored the architecture, the food, the life and the countryside. It was beautiful… perfect. And although Italy couldn't tell, he had never been so relaxed in his life.

There was something about the smell in the air, that just eased his heart and his mind.

He managed a smile when he opened the door, waiting for sweet forgiving Italy to throw himself at him and squeeze him almost senseless.

What he encountered when he opened the door was not at all what he expected. Ever. It was something he could never have expected, frankly. And upon actually encountering it he of course reacted in the way any man would.

He shut the door in the visitors face, took a second to stare at the back of the door and reset his brain, then opened it again, to see if he was imagining things.

No he was not.

The bemused looking fellow standing on the doorstep, ankle deep in long grass and sweating insanely in the shimmering heat, was almost his exact duplicate. Granted, a little less neatly pressed, his hair was not combed back, his clothes a little more casual, but otherwise, inch for every inch they were the same. Right down to the way they stood face to face.

"Hello." He spoke flatly, utterly astonished. "Can I help you?"

"Um…" the other man removed his glasses and blinked puzzlement, "Hello." He spoke with a slightly more Latin accent, Ludwig noted with a sigh of relief that he wasn't mad after all, this mans eyes were different. Longer lashed, a much darker blue. "I'm looking for… Italy."

Without hesitation Ludwig retorted. "Well, you're in it."

"No, I mean," a significant look, "I'm looking for _Italy._"

Ludwig's eyebrows arched. He couldn't possibly mean what he thought he did, could he?

"Who sent you?"

"A man named Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Ludwig rolled his eyes. So much for a secret trip.

"Alright fine. I suppose you had better come in."

…

Ludwig fixed the stranger coffee, unable to shake the weird feeling he got whenever he lifted his face and saw its reflection gazing at him over a rough wooden tabletop.

The kettle on the stovetop whistled, and he clattered around looking for a mug. There were plenty of clean ones, he thought dryly. He could take his pick.

"So. Gilbert sent you here then?"

"Yes."

"Where did find Gilbert?"

"He was with Roderich of course."

"Roderich Edelstein?"

The stranger frowned and looked at Ludwig quite intensely. "You know it was."

"Uh… right." Germany finished with the coffee and placed it on the table beside the man. "I uh… hm." He set his jaw and creaked into the seat opposite. "I see."

The two receded into a peculiar silence, each astonished, each a little disturbed, and unable to contain their disbelief.

"So." The stranger spoke first. "Have you noticed…"

"That we look exactly alike? Ja, I noticed that."

"Hm…" a small line was driven into a handsome brow, and the stranger cast his fringe aside with a flick. "Do you have a name?"

"Mm. Yes. Ludwig."

"A national name."

"Oh." Ludwig shifted uncomfortably at the forwardness. "Yeah. Germany."

"You're Germany?" he seemed surprised. "I had been expecting… hmm."

"You had been expecting what?" Ludwig's eyes slitted. The stranger cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well, when one thinks of Germany, one thinks of Oktoberfest… and women." He pulled an apologetic face. "I'm sorry. I was expecting braids and a barrel waist.

"… nice to know my country makes such a good impression on others then." The coldness in Ludwig's voice chilled the air itself. He decided that as far as first impressions go, this man was poor at them, so he supposed in a petty sort of way that made them even. "What about you?" he asked, smoothing his hair back.

"Mm. Yes. I don't have a national name anymore, but you can call me Ferdinand."

"Ferdinand?" the name was a familiar one, but Ludwig just couldn't place it. "Ferdinand formally…?"

"… Holy Roman Empire."

"…" Ludwig opened his mouth to say something, but fell short. He thunked an elbow on the table and rubbed his brow instead.

"I'm older than you." Ferdinand commented, arbitrarily.

"Yes in know that!" Germany snapped at the other, who lifted his coffee mug, clearly not bothered, and gave it a tentative sip. "Shouldn't you be busy… not existing? Or something? And how do you know Italy?"

Ferdinand clicked his tongue and sighed. "Shouldn't your_ brother_ be busy not existing? And I knew Italy from when we lived with Master Austria many years ago."

Germany winced at the careless reference to his egotistical non-nation of an older brother.

"… Okay, fine. But if you don't mind me asking, where have you been the last few hundred years?"

"Well, I spent the first couple of centuries blacked out in a ditch and the next few trying to hunt anyone I knew down. Regrettably, no-one spoke my language and every other nation had moved and I didn't know where I was. So I was living with the people in what you call France for a while. I got married, had a job. Then the plague came and I cleared out of there. Between then and now I have just been hunting. Got almost killed in the middle of a pretty nasty war about a year back, something called the blitzkrieg in London? You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

The light needling tone in his voice made Germany suck a sharp breath. He drew his conclusions then, that this man definitely didn't like him or anything he stood for. He in turn, didn't care much for the stranger back.

"That was an unfortunate accident." Ludwig spoke through tight teeth. "And has long since been forgotten."

Ferdinand lifted his left hand and pulled back the sleeve of his loose shirt to reveal a scarred hand, one finger on which (the one between middle and pinky) was missing.

"I didn't forget."

A bitter smile, he tipped his nose up and gazed haughtily around the small kitchen.

What Ludwig wasn't aware was that the missing finger had been lost in a battle that had long predated the first or second world wars, and that the jibe had been designed solely for cruel purposes. Because fact was, as soon as the ex-Holy Roman Empire had seen this heathen man (wearing an iron cross and a neat silver ring that was easily recognisable as an atheist symbol in a perfect display of ignorant contradiction) he had decided he despised him, and even more so was envious because he was obviously miss Italy's lover. How could he not be? He was living at her _summer house_ for Christ's sake!

Lord forgive him for the slander.

This was not a fellow he wished to respect.

"Charming place. Did Italy do that?" he gestured to a painting on the wall, of Ludwig and his brother, sitting side by side in uniform and painted many years ago. "It doesn't really match the rest of the place."

"It was old and we had no where to put it so we put it here."

"Oh, what a shame… it's a blight on the decoration of this quaint room." Ferdinand combed his hair back and smiled spitefully. "You know… the uniforms and things. They don't suit the mood." He set his coffee mug down and laced his fingers on the table.

Mother Mary have grace he was nervous.

Ferdinand was pretty sure he had been in love with Italy forever. Since before they even met. There was just something he felt, call it knowledge from God, call it wild obsession, he had since he dragged himself from the ditch in 1810 been hunting endlessly for the luxurious, wonderful young lady his treasured Italy had become. Of course, he was a little upset, what with the showing upon on the doorstep and discovering THIS, but the house still smelled of Italy. It possessed a light, fluting perfume he distinctly recognised as being hers across even centuries. Light, but sweet and spicy at the same time… like timely buildings and jewellery stores, and of course, dusty wine. He would be lying if he said the perfume wasn't getting him utterly worked up, but he was a man after all and men had certain needs.

His fingers secured around his rosary, and he cleared his throat.

"I don't suppose you know where Italy is?"

"… the village up the hill. We needed bread."

"How long will she be?"

"Maybe another hour unless…" Ludwig frowned. What did he just say? He couldn't possibly have misheard that had he? He had thought that this Ferdinand had said something like it before too, but dismissed it as having something to do with his crazy accent. "I'm sorry, could you say that again?"

He earned a strange look, but the other man repeated himself, a smile crept over Germany's features.

He wasn't really a spiteful man, but there was just _something_ about this fellow he felt like fucking with. And he would have had to have been stupid if he hadn't figured out what Ferdinand was after, considering he had come all this way to see a kid he had grown up with…

_He wants to get his perverted hands all over _my _Italy!_

They both rubbed each other the wrong way, so to speak.

"Oh, well yes. Another hour maybe. Unless _she _takes the bus. Would you like something to eat?"

…

Italy jumped off the bus and landed a little crooked. His sandaled foot twisted, and swearing softly he hobbled up the long drive, through rows of olive trees, to the little manor house he had left just over an hour earlier. The sun was beginning to ease, the landscape fading to bronze in the early evening sunlight. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of stout trees and he closed his eyes as he walked, savouring the sensation as a caress from a lover. A cold, indifferent lover.

Italy opened his eyes again, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and clutched his bag of bread a little tighter to his chest.

"Ludwig, I'm home." He drew to the doorstep and barged right in to the little foyer. The floor sunk below door level, and the cool white plastered walls were welcoming in a simple, non judgemental way. "Are you here? Can we talk?"

"Uh… ja." Ludwig's rumbling voice echoed from the kitchen, he smiled. It sounded so much lighter now, maybe the other man had warmed up, and they could go for a walk through the orchard before dinner. "Good idea, I would like to talk too."

"Great." Italy slipped off his sandals and padded toward the kitchen door.

Inside the kitchen, on the side of the table closest to the door, Ferdinand had blanched, his knuckles on his white coffee mug chalky, his lips pressed into an anxious, bloodless line. She sounded so sweet… what would he do when he saw her? Cry? Panic? Pass out?

Profess undying love and a flood of belated apologies?

"Hey, Luddy, have you finished cleaning the mugs? Do you want to go for a… oh." Italy stopped when upon entering the kitchen not one, but two people greeted him. One had the familiar handsome face of his German crush, the other had his back to him. But judging by the blonde hair and broad shoulders, they looked to be some kind of relatives.

A little ping of pain, Italy gritted his teeth. _Germany wasn't supposed to tell anyone about their secret villa!_

"Hello… who's this then? A cousin of yours?"

Ludwig smiled and shook his head.

"No. Can I get a kiss, perhaps?"

Well. If that didn't put Italy in a bit of a spot nothing did.

He really did want to kiss Germany. Very desperately much. But the distant, untouchable man very rarely let him, and even more rarely did he ask for such affectionate behaviour in public. On the other hand, he was kind of mad at him, for inviting not even a relative, but a stranger, into his summer house! Gosh, he didn't know what to do with himself, and if it wasn't for the stranger taking, for some reason, extreme displeasure in the suggestion he probably would have stood there conflicted for the most of the evening.

"Hey! Shut up! Italy don't you dare kiss him!" Ferdinand snapped his head around and glared, setting eyes on the love of his years for the first time in many a too-long century. "Why would you want to kiss such a man! He's an _atheist_ for goodness sake!"

Italy dropped his bag of bread.

Germany lifted a mug of coffee to his mouth to hide his little smile. He had nothing to loose, to a jerk like this.

…

"… I'm sorry, I don't know what to say."

Despite his soft, embarrassed protests, Italy had been pulled onto Germanys lap, and was currently trying to collaborate his thoughts as best he could. Ferdinand too, was gobsmacked. In fact, 'gobsmacked' may have been an understatement, he was quite blatantly astonished to the fullest possible extent. Partially numb on account of seeing the person he had dreamt of since he was a child and partially horrified to discover that that person was actually _a man_, he felt rather as though he had just been told he had been living his life backwards, up until this point. Everything he thought he knew was wrong, thank you very much, and he had best go back to the beginning and start over quick smart. There would be no sympathy for those who tarried.

Germany was rather enjoying the show. Behind his neat poker face, his petty sadistic streak was in full bloom. He had taken a grim delight in seeing his rival's expression upon making the gender realisation, and was enjoying even more the tensing muscle in the other's jaw when he let his hand purr higher and higher up Italy's thigh.

Poor Feliciano couldn't make sense of Ludwig's sudden 'touchy feely', but he felt much too awkward to ask him to stop. That and well, if circumstances had been a little more intimate and private, he probably would have melted to feel the other mans hands stroke the inside of his thighs with softly calloused fingers.

He certainly, _definitely _couldn't bring himself to look at holy roman while all this was going on… he would need at least twice as much heart space and bravery before he could ever consider lifting his eyes from the worn table top again.

He wondered if he was going to cry.

"… That's okay." Ferdinand rubbed the shell of his ear awkwardly and flicked dark, dark blue eyes once more over Italy, just to make sure.

But no, there was no mistaking it.

Since childhood, chub and padding had slipped off his face, revealing smooth, pretty features and cheekbones to absolutely die for. His beautiful pert nose, sweetly bowed lips and eyes at low mast but glinting headily with amber when the web of lashes that guarded them caught the light. His hair, longer, a little less red, was still that thick skein punctuated with a rampant curl. His body slim, elegant, and endlessly beautiful. In the loose shirt he wore, the soft small shorts beneath exposing surprisingly pale, almost disproportionately long, legs, he looked positively lattice like in his beauty. Agelessly radiant, and graceful. "I don't really know what to say either." He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to resist the temptation to dissolve into thin air. "I… should really have rung first, and let you know that I was coming."

"… That would have been nice."

As far as awkward situations go, this particular one was somewhere in the top three of all time.

Germany was the next to speak.

"So… Ferdinand…"

"Ferdinand?" Italy murmured, having heard his childhood sweethearts human name for the first time.

"You wanted to see Italy?"

"Uh… yes." Ferdinand flushed dark in his face. "I did, and… I have."

Feliciano lifted his eyes, batting his lashes nervously, daring to look properly at the other man. He looked a disturbing amount like… Ludwig. It was unsettling, but also heartbreakingly familiar and good. If it wasn't for his eyes, he would have been an exact doppelganger.

"…was there anything you wanted to say to me?"

"Yes there was. A lot. And I would like to say it… in private."

Their eyes locked, and Ludwig (being left out of the little moment) felt the first little twinge of discomfort about the situation. For some reason, the other fellow was yet to run out after discovering Italy wasn't a girl. Well, that left Germany in a fix. Now he had to prevent Feli from falling for the dick. Which shouldn't be too difficult considering how unpleasant he seemed in personality, but still.

"I… okay. Ludwig, can you go get some wine from the cellar then?" a soft tap to his knee, and unable to decline he stood, Italy sliding from his lap and into his empty seat. "Thank you."

"Ja," he sent a threatening glance Ferdinand's way, and combed a stray chunk of fringe back into his hairstyle. "What one?"

"Anyone is fine."

It was with unease he left the room, and it was with unease the remaining two regarded each other, Italy biting his lip, Holy Roman Empire playing with his crucifix in a subtle indication of stress.

"Italy-"

"Holy Rome-"

They spoke together, and both fell silent.

"You should-"

"You first-"

"… I uh…" Ferdinand let his eyes close and he sniffed. "I didn't realise you had a lover."

Italy's face blanched.

"Oh no, Ludwig isn't my lover! I mean… he is, but he isn't. But no… we aren't _together_ like… we are but not… ugh…" giving up, he let himself fall face flat on the table and sigh. "I don't even know how to explain it. I'm sorry."

"Are you sleeping together?"

"What? No!" the question shocked him, and Italy was reminded that the man sitting opposite him was no longer that shay child he had known all those years ago. "Well, yes. But not _sleeping_ sleeping. We just…" he flushed deeply, and confessed his greatest shame as though it was a good thing. "We share a bed, normally, but we haven't ever… had sex."

This placated the strange, jealous man. He hummed contentedly and Italy squirmed in his seat.

"Whatabout you?" he asked strongly, much more bravely than he felt. His lips catapulted the words carelessly and recklessly into the air. "Haven't you got a lover? I thought you were dead! Or I thought…"

Feliciano didn't know, what he thought. Once again, the almost identical appearance of both men in his house made him uncomfortable, as though he had eaten something nasty, or fallen into some kind of bad dream. It was a maelstrom of confusion, contorted and scary and no he really was sure he was about to cry soon. Seriously.

Because maybe, deep down on some crazy, comfort desperate level, all his emotions relating to the one Ludwig Beilschmidt was based on the unspoken, unacknowledged belief that under it all, he had always been that first, ghostly lost love.

If that was true, what did that make Ludwig now? Was he really just a stranger after all? Or did he still possess the Italians heart, even if it had been a misgiven gift.

Wait, was it a misgiven gift, or was it shared fair and square?

"I do not have a lover currently, though many years ago while living in France I was married for a short period of time. And what does it matter? You said you would wait for me, and you didn't."

"I did so wait for you!" those threatening tears were spilling now, and Ferdinand felt a fierce stab of pain at the sight of them sliding down perfect cheeks. "I thought you had died! And then I met Ludwig and I thought he was you… and then he was Germany and now you're here and…and…" he shook his head and screwed up his face. "And now I'm crying like some kind of child! Isn't it ridiculous?"

"… I don't think you're ridiculous!" protective instincts booted in him, to see someone he cared about in pain, Holy Roman sat up higher in his seat and leant forward anxiously. "Please don't cry! Calm down a little and talk to me and here." He flung his hand over the table, the one less a finger, and clawed for Feliciano's hand. "And look at me, huh? Let me see your face. Tell me your name! I didn't know you were a boy…"

"You wha'?" in disbelief, Italy dropped a hand from rubbing at tears to stare at Ferdinand. The wide night-sky eyes that peered back at him were soft and passionate… endlessly different from Ludwig's cold ice crisp irises. And actually, when he focused a little harder, he did notice some other more subtle difference between the two men. The slight turn up at the tip of Holy Roman's nose, the softer frame of his cheekbones and littering of freckles over his nose and chin. He dressed a little more loosely too, he wore sunglasses on his head, a heavy rosary, and didn't comb his fringe back. Feliciano thought it looked becoming, soft blonde feathering over a noble brow and framing a flawlessly formed face.

"You didn't know I was a boy?"

The other shook his head.

"… Does that change how you feel about me?"

A slight tint of rose fanned across Ferdinand's cheeks, he dropped his gaze for a second, only a second.

"I don't know… I don't think… when it's sunk in, I will be able to answer that question."

Feliciano nodded and swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. It was heavy, coal-like, and pulsing like it had its own frantic heartbeat.

He mover his hand to clasp the one offered, barely noticing the absent digit and almost fainting at the feel of palm in palm.

"My name is Feliciano… but Ludwig calls me Feli."

"Then I will not." A smile, Holy Rome tightened his grip on Italy's hand and earned a soft snigger. "May I have a kiss then, Feliciano? It's been such a long time, I can't remember how your lips feel."

…

"So, you can have this room I suppose."

"Thank you." Ferdinand smiled gently and dared to brush Feliciano's cheek with the back of his palm. The Italian man tilted his face into the touch without thinking and sighed. He liked Holy Rome's voice. It was much deeper, and curling and romantic in a way Germany's was not. "It's very beautiful."

It was a room not in any way different to Feliciano's own, nor Germany's next door. Tiled floor, white plastered walls, a high ceiling from which a mosquito net and an old rickety fan was suspended. It rotated idly on stationary breezes, the space smelled earthy and retained a sort of flaunt warmth. Ferdinand took a liking to it instantly.

"It's not really anything special…" Feli chewed his lip and fiddled with a lock of hair. For some reason, he was feeling sort of shy. After the initial shock wore of he had found himself begin to get flustered. This man… was his first love, they hadn't met for hundreds of years… his anxiety wasn't irrational.

"Do you ant to come and get pizza with Ludwig and I?" he blurted. "We are going up in about an hour, and if you want to come along…"

"I would love to." Ferdinand, possessively and unhesitatingly pulled the smaller man into his arms, planting a kiss on his crown. "But is it okay if I have a small nap first? I'm terribly jetlagged."

…

Feliciano found Ludwig at the kitchen table, pouring over papers he shouldn't have even brought on holiday. Feliciano knew him well enough to recognise that the reason he was drowning himself in legal forms and economic static had nothing to do with necessity. It was an anxiety thing, and this set an alien and uncomfortable feel of flattery, excitement and guilt in his lower gut.

Germany was stressing over _him_, and the threat that had appeared out of no-where to poach his love.

"Um, Luddy?"

"Ja?" Germany didn't lift his eyes above the frame of his glasses. "What is it? Can it wait? I'm busy."

"Um, no, it's kind of important."

Ludwig froze for a moment, pen hovering above the 'sign here' box on a dog registration form, before setting his pen down and releasing a deep breath of air.

"All right then, go ahead."

"I need to explain…"

"Yes, you do. Who is that?"

"That's… Holy Roman Empire."

"Holy Roman Empire what?" Germany gave Italy a blank, unimpressed look, and the poor boy whined, sinking into a chair and hanging his head.

"Holy Roman Empire. We lived together with Austria."

"…And you what? You slept with him?"

"Germany we were kids!" a little bit affronted, Italy glared at his almost-lover and scraped his nails on the table. "We never at all. But… we um…" his lip puffed where he worried it. "We kissed. And… he told me he loved me."

Germany sniffed indignantly, and a stab of both delight and distress chorded in Feli's gut. _Germany didn't like the thought of him kissing someone else._

"Oh. I see."

"But... That's all that happened. He went away, and I thought… um, I dunno what I thought. It was all very confusing, and it's all confusing now because I don't know what to do or how to act. But I can see that Germany doesn't like him, because you think he's going to steal me off you, but he won't I promise I really do."

Italy wasn't sure he was convicted enough to make that promise, but he tried anyway and almost instantly regretted it. It was as though Germny had suddenly had a bucket of something spiny and unpleasant dumped over his head. He sat up rigidly and positively glared, cheeks flaming angry red.

"I am _not _jealous of such a man! And I am not worried he will steal you from me!" Ludwig may not have realised, but perhaps on some level that was exactly what he was afraid of. "Why should I be? It's not like you're anything special to me."

Now it was his turn to regret saying something.

Perhaps Ludwig and Feliciano hadn't always been the most eloquently communicative pair, perhaps there were always things that were left unsaid or ignored that really should not have remained so, but if all the disastrous miscommunication, through all the tears and hurt that Germany had inflicted upon Italy and all the irritation and confusion Italy had returned, this was probably the most catastrophic.

It was so catastrophic that Italy could practically hear his heart tearing in half. It was so destructive and painful, he couldn't even cry about it, he sat there dumbly, for almost a minute, lost in bewilderment and hurt.

"But… Ludwig…" unable to see through the cloud of suppressed tears and soreness, Italy blinked his eyes and licked his upper lip anxiously. "I thought… you loved me."

"Did I say that?" Fed up, feeling unusually stout and thick in his chest cavity, Germany stood and seized his papers. He clutched them with subtly trembling hands and smoothed his hair back, to calm him down. The back of his nose was tingling oddly, and his eyes burned. "I don't recall ever saying that. Now if you want me, I will be in my room."

Italy sat stationary until he was gone, before collapsing face down on the table and emitting a low, pained whine. The tears broke then, a silent barrier giving way to rivers of salted sorrow that pooled on the wood and peppered opalescent cheeks.

Why? Why why why? It was like having his whole world snapped in two, like having his every hope and dream peeled ruthlessly away and tossed redundantly to the side. This hurt… it was unlike anything he had ever before experienced. Except maybe for once. That one, horribly painful time…

All those years ago when he lost his very first love.

And so Italy cried.

He cried for lost love, he cried for found love. He cried for wasted years and wasted tears and he cried for all those times his could have closed the distance between Germany's lips and his own.

And when he ran out of tears he stayed there, sobbing softly, ignoring the soft blanket of darkness that tucked the small villa in its folds and the singing of crickets stirring just beyond the kitchen window.

…

Ferdinand stirred, realising he had fallen asleep in his clothes and atop his bed, in yet another strange house in another strange nation and… ah.

The smell flooded back to him before total conscious. The fluid, fragrant, fertile perfume of late evening. It was warm and dark and dry, and it was with a great contentment he rose and stretched, eyes straining to make out the details in the dm room. He needed a drink, he thought, and hadn't Italy said something about pizza?

Oh, _Italy._

A smooth growl, the dormant beats sleeping curled in his chest stirred, hackles twitching, and he reflected on how delightfully nostalgic the feeling was. Like being a teenager again, about to engage in war on behalf of something he loved with an almost violent, vore-ish passion. He flexed and deciding it was plenty warm enough, he tugged off his shirt before leaving the room. In the bare living space, a soft glow spiralling up from the town below them and casting the weakest light through the drop-facing window, he looked godlike, ageless and strong. He touched the rosary around his neck and shuffled to the kitchen.

What he saw when he got there made him stop.

"… Feliciano?"

"Mm?" the figure lying half sprawled on the table was awake, eyes reflective and half mast, staring without focus at the door he had just walked through. "Is that you, Luddy?"

"No, it's Ferdinand." The beast grunted in displeasure, and dragged itself into sitting position.

"Oh," dead voiced, Feliciano let his eyes fall shut, and his lips part in a sorrowful sigh. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay… are you alright?"

"Mm." Italy shrugged. Concerned, Ferdinand popped an eyebrow.

"Are you sure? You look very…" he trailed off, splaying his fingers and pushing them firmly through Italy's hair. It felt good, the young man flexed his shoulders and, thinking how deliciously _warm_ Holy Rome was, followed after them, seeking more contact.

"It's nothing, me and Germany just had some words."

"Were they about me?"

"Not specifically." Feliciano sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What's the time? I bet you must be hungry. Did you just wake up?"

"… Yes. I did. But I'm not important." Ferdinand stepped forward and draped his arms around Italy's shoulders, drawing his face against the smooth warm plane of his stomach. The hint was taken. Arms necklaced his waist, and Italy nosed the soft, sweet smelling skin above tummy button in thanks for the warmth and affection. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing…"

"It must be something!"

"Ludwig said he doesn't love me."

Holy Rome choked, and his hands idly playing with Italy's hair froze. "What?"

"Germany. He said he didn't love me."

The thought of the lecherous, godless heathen feeling up his pure and untouched angel earlier that afternoon made the beast in his chest positively seethe. He had touched Italy in that way, obviously with that intention…

And he didn't love him.

How lustful and devilish can one get?

"Oh, Feliciano… surely you don't love him though?"

"… I don't know. I can't answer that." He sniffed and turned his face to the side, cheek resting against holy roman's abdominals. "I just… I really had thought he did you know. And I guess I took it for granted. Just like I had always taken for granted the assumption that you and him…"

"Were the same me?"

Italy nodded. Ferdinand dropped his hands to the others shoulders, rubbing small circles slowly across the muscles to ease them up. He sighed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Italy nodded and stood up.

"We can go for a walk outside. It's so beautiful, I'm sure it will clear up my head."

Barefooted the two skittered across suddenly cold tiles out of the house. Without even noticing Italy let Holy Rome take his hand. It was dark, fireflies darted among olive trees in the garden and below the hilltop the town bowed in a web of starry lights. The sky was clear, the moon glowing, and everything was pungently sweet.

"So Italian…" Ferdinand purred.

They wandered down the drive together in silence, and Italy began to mull things over in his mind.

…

Ludwig couldn't sleep.

It wasn't that he was too hot, (although he was), or that he was not tired (because he really was), and most people who weren't as emotionally disjointed as himself could have probably worked out that it was actually because of what had happened between him and Italy earlier that evening, but as far as he was concerned he was rutted and could not, no matter what he tried, rest.

All he could think of was his Feli.

The way he smiled, the way he laughed… even the way his lower lip trembled when he failed in training…

It was maddening, and making his heart do strange hammering things he didn't like in his chest. And so he tossed and turned, thinking, unable to silence the chatter of thoughts and things and MOMENTS. Things he never said but should have. And moments he should not have said anything.

Like this evening in the kitchen, for example.

Sighing heavily, he fell flat onto his back, staring at the shadows cast on his ceiling by moonlight. The sound of Italy, of crickets and soft breezes, curled beyond his window. The perfume of the place, ever lingering meekly on Feliciano's body, was so strong it made him dizzy. Sweet, mellow, delicately layered with age and earth and a million other miraculous, unnameable things. It was wonderful. How could anyone come to this place and not fall irrevocably in love?

This thought made him sad. Combing his fingers through his hair he sat up, wondering if maybe he should get up and try to talk to Feliciano again. It was too late for pizza, but surely they could mend things before bed? Not sleep mad, or something like that. Maybe the things he had said were a little harsh after all. It wasn't REALLY Feli's fault that this Ferdi-whatever had shown up.

He slipped out of bed, pulled on his shorts and crumpled wife beater, before padding to his fast bedroom door.

…

The grass rustled underfoot as they walked away behind the house and up the hill that backed it, to the olive groves and vineyard, the winking fairy lights of the village far below them.

"We met long after I had been told you were dead," Italy began out of nowhere, jerking Ferdinand from his relatively impure thoughts. He grabbed his rosary and shook himself, a reminder that Italy was not his yet, to embrace.

"You and the German?"

"Yes, we met in the first world war, and though I was scared of him at first he was very good to me. He shouted a lot, and eats this weird thing called wurst that tastes awful, but he protected me and helped me when I needed it, though I was weak and sort of…" he pulled a face, disliking the word he had to use there to describe himself. "Useless. It was funny, but it used to remind me of Holy Rome, how you were scary once too but when I got to know you, you were just…" a contemplative sigh, he gazed back over his shoulder to the cottage and the web of lights far away, before turning back and continuing to trudge up the side of the hill. "Anyway, we were really close, and I liked him a lot. And then one day, randomly for no reason, he proposed to me. Which of course terrified me and overwhelmed me, because I had been so sure I was just an annoyance to him, someone he didn't really want weighing him down. We never seemed to see eye to eye and we still don't, and after I said no there were many times I regretted it. May time I wondered what would have happened if he and I were to have become one. I had assumed by this point he was you, see, because of how you looked and the scary first impressions. Although there were some things about him that I hated, I put up with them because on some level I firmly believed that he was the same man I had fallen in love with when I was just a young child. Scarred, changed, but somewhere in there I felt he knew me, and I felt he loved me. Like you did."

The former Holy Roman Empire smiled sheepishly, heartbeat lifting to hear acknowledgement of his love spoken by those flawless lips.

"Carry on," he prompted softly, reaching for Italy's hand. "I want to hear the rest then."

"There isn't much more to tell… I guess when you showed up I didn't really know what to do. I still don't know what to do! I'm scared that this whole thing is some horribly wonderful dream, hideous and beautiful, and that when I wake up everything will be back to normal again, I will be in bed with Germany with nothing to prove this happened but my memory. But that's not right, is it? This isn't a dream. This is reality. A reality where I don't know who loves me, or why any of this is happening, or if the man I love was really the man I love or a proxy for the man I was the whole time waiting to meet once more. It's scary, and it hurts."

By then the two had reached the top of the hill, and the orchard fenced by loose and bowing posts sling with string and overgrown chords. The wood was mossy, and exuded a soft wet smell, Feliciano unlatched the gate to the orchard and the two entered, disappearing into a blanched aisle of whispering trees.

"I know what you mean." Holy Rome purred calmly. "When I came here I was expecting a woman, alone maybe for a pet cat."

"I'm sorry…"

"I wanted very much to marry you, you know. It was like all I could remember was this angel in a small white smock, and I was so sure that finally God had brought me home to you at last." He smiled and Italy's stomach squirmed anxiously.

"I'm really so sorry…"

"Don't be. It's not your fault." They found a small well trodden walkway through the vines and trees and followed it to the far side, where Italy knew there was a cliff overlooking the whole valley plateau. All around them, fireflies spun, and distant houses on distant hills glowed mutely with affectionate light. Feliciano paused at an olive tree, heavily laden with fruit and enticing him with a low, marvellous perfume. He stood there in silence for a bit and plucked a few, Ferdinand hesitated and waited, observing, small smile pulling the corners of his lips.

"Hey Italy?" he beckoned his companion further down the craggy garden path, to where an opening at the end revealed the looking spot at the edge of Italy's little romantic world. "Come here."

"Mm, yah." Feli popped the last olive into his mouth and hurried to keep up, cardigan slipping down and revealing to the other a bare, pale shoulder that gleamed and glowed in the silver light. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking." He stopped walking, glancing up to the sky splattered with stars, like the almighty god above had spilled a glass of milk across the canvas of the world. "It's really beautiful here, isn't it?"

"Mm." Italy smiled peacefully, still a little sore, and tucked his hair neatly behind one ear. "It's mine and I love it."

"I love it to."

Ferdinand dropped his gaze back, and Feli's mind faltered to see the lines of his face rendered delicately in puddles and dabs of platinum and blue. The gracious curve of his lips, the razorblade of a dismissive nose. His hair was still rumpled, but delectably blonde, and everything about him just melted strength of a militant, dignified variety. He was more than beautiful, he was godlike, and the way he was looking left Feliciano anxious, blushing and looking away.

"Thank you." He murmured non-comitially. "I-oh." He jumped when a large hand brushed his cheek, and stepped back in surprise. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to, you just…"

"Gave you a fright?" Ferdinand closed the gap, running his finger along the soft bow of jawbone and tilting Italy's chin up, to see his face. "It's okay. Are you still ticklish?" he flicked his tongue thoughtfully over his top lip and Feliciano's legs almost gave way beneath him. "I remember, when you were younger, you were wildly ticklish."

The dark roses of embarrassment that flushed his cheeks were jewely and nostalgic.

"_No Germany! Cut it out!"_

"_Why? Am I hurting you? Why didn't you tell me you were ticklish, Hm?" Germany had held the other close, his fingers running ambitiously over sensitive spots as they tumbled recklessly on the unmade bed. Feliciano shrieked in response, bucking, trying to throw the other man off as tears of mirth beaded at the rims of his eyes. The smile on Ludwig's face was beautiful. White and genuine, and the corners of his eyes crinkled a little. His hair had fallen loose, his skin was soft with a faint film of sweat._

_Their first morning together in Italy had been a charming one._

"Yes, I'm still ticklish."

"Ah. Cute." The hand holding his chin slid down the side of his throat and back up through his hair from the nape of his neck. A light shiver ran the ladder of his spine, Ferdinand smiled and pressed their foreheads together. "Where was it you were sensitive again?" his other hand, fingers barely brushing the folds of cotton tee, found its way to that slim Italian waist. "Here?"

"_No! Not there!"_

_Germany laughed, nosing the soft skin along Feliciano's sides, blowing and stroking his stomach in a cruelly ticklish way. Feli squirmed, trying to escape the mans clutches, gasping with laughter and a delirious excitement but unable to calm down enough to speak any more pleas. He was pinned down by a hand to his chest, Ludwig propped himself up and regarded the flustered man beneath him, the way he panted for breath, the way his curl bobbed and twitched in enthusiasm._

"_How about here?" he murmured, giving it a light pull._

"Mm." the small start he got in response was an affirmation, he chuckled and slid his nose along the length of Italy's own.

"You're so gorgeous." He murmured, breath caressing the soft slightly parted bow of Italy's own lips. "You can't imagine how good it is to see you again."

Italy's heart was racing. His mind faltered, and he temporarily forgot himself, reaching up to cup the face against his own.

"It's good to see you too…"

And there in the olive groves, among softly waving trees and long grass through which fireflies bobbed and twirled, they kissed. Once first, chastely on the lips very much like they had that evening, in the kitchen. Twice deeper, Ferdinand nudging Feliciano's lips apart and coaxing his tongue out slowly, delicately, like a master training his student he guided the kiss and the varying heat, the shyness adding a special, secret spark to the tenderness of lips on lips. ¨

The third kiss was almost steamy. Tongue swapped cautiously, Ferdinand got a hand beneath the hemline of Feliciano's shirt before the smaller man jerked away, hands shaking, and stepped back.

"We should get back to the house."

"… Yeah." Holy Rome's heart leapt and he chewed his lip, clenching his fist in frustration when Italy turned his back and began striding swiftly back down the rows of vines.

"Mother Mary give me strength," he flexed his fingers and thought of Christ, and when his mind was no longer inflamed he hurried after, back to the little house.

…

Germany creaked open Italy's bedroom door, and anxiously poked his head inside.

"Feli?" he whispered over the creak of heavy door on old hinges. "Are you awake?"

After finding the kitchen deserted, Ludwig had immediately assumed that the other had taken to bed early is some such. Some such being the less desirable 'he went out for pizza with that beast and not me' possibility he tried not to think about.

However, upon finding Italy's bedroom empty… Germany had no other option but to expect the worst. A brief check confirmed, Ferdinand whatever his name was, was not in his room either.

"Shit." Germany, scowling again, was very much less than impressed with the way that had gone. He would have thought that even upset Italy would have at least asked him if he wanted t go out with them. Unless of course the horrible possibility of Italy favouring _him_ over Ludwig was founded.

This thought did not help his mood, and with a cocky dismissal not unlike one his elder brother would happily make, he pushed it aside. The notion was a stupid one, after all, Ferdinand was just some stupid childhood crush. Ludwig was Italy's _partner_ wasn't he? Ludwig had helped him out and they had shared a bed and they had been pretty much inseparable for years. That made the slight Italian his property, not just to be snatched away because some prissy Roman Catholic bitch (who was probably too damn high in his 'Holy Mother Mary' to even consider taking Italy as a lover) snapped his fingers. It was NOT something Ludwig wanted to see happening.

Swallowing his bitterness he strode into the kitchen for a beer, then remembered Italy had none and took a whole bottle of wine, old expensive looking stuff from Feliciano's precious 'don't-touch-please-ve' wine rack, and stomped back through the dark house to not his own room, but Feli's.

And as gruff and moody as he seemed doing so, he knew, deep down, he needed to apologise, and was willing to sit up until all hours to do just that.

…

"Alright then." The two young men, (ancient, actually, but who was counting,) lingered shyly outside of the taller's bedroom door, twiddling their fingers, and smiling anxiously at each other in the semi-darkness.

"Thank you for coming walking with me…" Feliciano touched the others stomach lightly, his voice breathy on account of his heart, which was beating somewhere around the vicinity of his throat. "I appreciate it."

"Thank you for letting me." A charming smile, Ferdinand leaned forward and kissed Feliciano's forehead. This came as a shock to Italy, but he quickly adjusted, cheeks darkening to shades of navy in the night.

"Oh… you're welcome?"

Ferdinand smiled, and insisted on another little kiss.

If Ludwig had of come out of Feliciano's bedroom then, he probably would have done a right nut. The stranger was kissing his property, trying to seduce the man he had spent almost a hundred years trying to tame. And he was doing it as easy as pie, with a spoonful of honey and flirtatious words.

Catching less flies with vinegar, and the likes.

"Uh… Ferdinand?" sort of hoping they could kiss some more, Italy let himself ease against Holy Rome's chest, gazing up at him with sparkling eyes and smiling as innocently as he could. "Do you think maybe I could sleep with you tonight? Germany usually lets me share with him but…"

Ferdinand's stomach dropped almost straight through the paved floor.

"Um… Italy…"

"Please? I hate sleeping alone…"

Ferdinand was unsure if that was such a good idea. Italy, in his bed, probably not wearing much, asleep beside him… he had been practicing temperance all his life but that?

"Please?"

Regretfully, he found himself helpless before those puppy eyes.

With an excited little 'Yay' Feliciano tugged the other man into the room and began stripping off. He was going to, after years and years of day reaming, finally fall asleep in the arms of his original love, the Holy Roman Empire. He didn't think once, in his excitement, of Germany next door, or anything much really, besides him, the fellow who was for some reason still standing awkwardly in the doorway, staring at the dark, freshly naked form before him, stretching and flopping stomach down onto the bed.

"Ve, Ferdinand, what are you waiting for?"

Nothing, the man decided, restraint shattering. Absolutely nothing in the world.

He too hurried to remove his clothes, and leap on the bed beside him. If Italy was surprised to have a broad blonde nation crush him against the bed and attack him with tickling hands, he made no sign, wriggling and gasping into the pillow and trying to get comfortable on the bed. Eventually, the two of them were side by side, Italy still wiggling, and Ferdinand held off with his laughter filled tickling to pull the blanket over the two of them, and pull Italy back into his arms again.

Italy though, clearly was not on his same page. Where he was revved up and keen to go (lord god please bless this holy union and make him come so hard he faints of it), Feliciano fell almost instantaneously asleep. It had taken Ludwig a while to adjust to such behaviour, and evidently the same was going to be true of Holy Rome. Needless to say, it had been a little disappointing. The crusader was actually most put out by the whole affair.

And he was much to high and holy to wank himself off, thank you very much.

…

The sun rose early and so did Italy, wrapped in familiar, yet strange arms and a new, un-Germany sort of perfume. Cool air fluted through the cracked open window on the far wall, the sound of a tractor working the grape vines a few orchards over was comforting, but, he realised uncomfortably after about ten minutes, he kind of really needed to go to the bathroom… and Holy Rome didn't look like he would be waking up soon. He would have to squirm out and go himself.

Oh, Holy Rome…

The thought of the man made him smile as he slid down the sleeping, muscular body and ducked out from under the duvet. Without putting on his clothes (embracing his inner nudist. If you please) Feliciano pattered out of the room and to the bathroom, to fix his dilemma. The kitchen, he noticed in transit, was concerningly untidy… there were dirty coffee cups in the sink from yesterday, and someone had forgotten to put away the box of all bran. (tired of waiting for a man who was already back and asleep, Germany had experienced 'extreme munchies' around two am, and had been too inebriated to remember to put the box back.)

After the bathroom though, was when he addressed these things.

"Germany?" anxious, trembling a little and feeling all his good mood from earlier diminish, he approached Germanys bedroom door. "Germany can we talk?"

No reply when he knocked, and the room was empty.

Strange, Germany didn't usually go for morning runs on holiday, but that must have been the case, right? Where else would he be?

A little confused, Italy sighed and headed back to his little room. The door was closed, but opened easily. It was still all very dim inside, and rather than take the time to let his eyes adjust he wandered to his suitcase by the closet on the floor. He had fresh clothes in there, he was sure…

"Italy?"

Poor Feliciano almost jumped right out of his skin.

"Germany?" despite the German having seen him naked numerous times over, he still seized a t-shirt from his case and held it to hide his shame. "Oh my… what are you doing in here?"

The large, tired looking man was lying on his bed beneath a flimsy wine splattered sheet. The bottle, empty, was by his pillow, and for the first time, he felt in his life, he as hung over. And Italy… why was Italy nude? He sat up, rubbing his temples, and took a moment to readjust. The back of his tongue tasted… strange. Unpleasant.

"I was… uh…" Ludwig struggled to extract the string of sense from the blurry haze of his memories. "I was sleeping on here."

"Why?"

"I was… waiting for you?" Germany screwed up his face, the memory just on the very border of recollection. "But you were…" his face morphed when he remembered, from confusion to comprehension and crumpling again into anger. "You were asleep with him weren't you?" His eyes raked the others bare frame. "You…"

"No, Germany, its fine." Heart fluttering idly, Italy pulled on the t-shirt and crawled onto the bed, reaching for Germany's wrists. "It's fine, I was just sad that's all… its nothing. I-"

Germany jerked his hands away, leaping from the bed as though Feliciano may have been contagious. The wine bottle rolled off the bed, falling to the paved floor and shattering everywhere.

"You slept with him."

"Yes but-"

"You slept with him! You little bitch you SLEPT WITH HIM!" a large heavy hand came around, and Feliciano had time to flinch before it was jerked away in horror, a strangled noise on Germany's part accompanying it. "You…" his fist clenched and flexed a good few times, as if he was trying to clutch words from the air. Hiding behind his own hands, Italy dared to peek at the other, trembling a little, heart hammering at the thought that Ludwig had almost…

"You nearly hit me." He spoke breathless, disbelieving, eyes wide and beginning to tear. "why-"

"BECAUSE YOU FUCKING DESERVE IT!" no hand was raised this time, instead, a heavy step forward was all it took. Face to face Feliciano felt his chest constrict in shock, the vibrations in the low growl from what could probably now be considered his ex-lovers bosom reverberating right through his whole body. "You ungrateful little whore of a man! _You fucking deserve it!_ First it was always Ludwig this, Ludwig that, but then as soon as some asshole brat of a man comes along its all about him, isn't it? You never cared about me at all did you! You were always just a-_"_

"That's not true I did too!"

"Just a manipulative cow looking for protection and someone to curl up beside because you're too goddamned weak to protect yourself. And now you're sleeping with him! Well that's just great!"

"Liar!"

"If you want to be a slut then fine! Be a slut! It's not like I liked you or anything, ugly whore."

The concept of what was happening, Germany's face straight up in his own, kind blue eyes pulled to cruel slits, just didn't process. Nothing quite was processing any more, in the poor Italians mind. Nothing. He could feel himself twisting, he could feel wires snapping, sparks flying as something inside him mentally just _broke_, and he found himself screaming, leaping off the bed still nude and slamming his hand around the side of Ludwig's face in a wild slap.

"How dare you!" he stepped back, cheeks red with rage, chest all aflutter in the worst way possible. "How _dare you say such awful thongs to me? _After all I've done for you!"

"All you've- what have you ever done for me?" Ludwig could think of nothing in that moment other than get in his way and be a general inconvenience. "You're barely intelligent enough to do anything for yourself!" the red mark on his face, obscenely hand shaped, was ignored, as though Italy's slap had been inconsequential. His rumpled hair, yesterday's clothes, and the dark circled bruising under his eyes on top of that left him looking like a right messy disgrace of an individual.

"I do everything for you Ludwig! I cook for you, I listen to you complain when you've had a bad day at work, I give you neck rubs and back rubs and I'm-"

"You're always fucking up. You're always wasting my time, you're always invading my personal space!"

"I BATHE YOUR DOGS! I DO YOUR LAUNDRY! I SING TO YOU WHEN YOU CANT SLEEP AT NIGHT!" tone of hysteria creeping into Feliciano's voice now, he gave his best attempt at shoving the brick wall of a man backward, to no avail. "I'M THE ONE YOU NEEDED TO KEEP YOU FROM GOING FUCKING MAD AND SHOOTING EVERYONE YOU KNOW AND LOVE, AND I THOUGHT…" he trailed off helplessly, tears falling fresh.

"You thought what? And don't dare you say any of that shit about love or god help me Feli I will-"

"What on earth is going on in here?"

Both men stopped arguing to snap their heads in the direction of the third, standing half dressed in the doorway.

"You two yelling woke me up, are you okay Italy?" his narrowed eyes fell on Ludwig, his tight fists and furious flush. "What is he doing in your room?"

Ludwig stepped back, noting bitterly that he was the only man in the vicinity wearing trousers.

"It doesn't matter." Finally acknowledging that slight Italy had slapped him, Germany stepped back, rubbing the side of his face. His stomach felt strange and hurtful, like it was slowly beginning to fill with bile and burn through, but he wouldn't let it show, instead stealing his jaw and squaring already authoritive shoulders. His head hurt. "I'm leaving now."

"Leaving where?"

"Leaving to pack my bags." In three heavy strides he was across the room and showing his competitor out of the way. "I'm going home."

Italy, still on the bed, gave a little pained whine, as though he had just been punched in the stomach. Holy Rome cocked his eyebrows, and watched the German's broad back disappear into the kitchen.

"Really?" he murmured, slipping into the room and glancing at the curled, trembling Feliciano sobbing tearlessly on the bed. "Well it's a bout time…"

…

The two men swayed arm in arm down the little cobbled street, dressed loose and humble to allow for the searing heat of an Italian ten am sun. The Euros in Feliciano's pocket jingled, and many times were the two stopped by people in the street, kids, women, even teenagers, he had known and would speak to with a vibrant expertise Ferdinand was in awe of. Italy, it was apparent, had such a fierce and genuine link with his people. It was lush and exuberant, a little loud and flighty, but he had it, he really genuinely had it. His people loved him, he loved his people, and that showed with every kind comment he made, every cheerful animated conversation he shared.

No-one asked who Ferdinand was, because behind those large obstructive sunglasses, he may just well have been the usual blonde, the one they had with knowing smiles called Feliciano's _amante_, when he had walked away.

"Who was that?" Ferdinand posed as they left a very passionate woman bearing a basket of laundry on her way down the small, cottage lined street. "She seemed nice."

"Her name is Rosa, and she was a good friend of Antonio's. You know Antonio?"

Ferdinand frowned and tipped his head to the side.

"I may…"

"Spain."

"Oh yeah I know him."

"Yes, well, she was his maid many years ago. And then she came here. She's so lovely, has three young grandkids."

Holy Rome turned around, not believing him, and gazed after the woman who had turned the corner down the end of the small street.

"You're lying… she couldn't be more than thirty!"

"She's sixty three." Feli winked and pulled the other closer. "Women in Italy don't get old. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Ferdinand nodded, lifting his eyes to the blue sky arching above the village on the steep. Because here he was, standing arm in arm with the love of his life, in the heart of the Italy everybody dreams of.

Winding paths making their way through buildings so organic they may have grown there from the rock. Sweet scented dusky air, rustling ivy and people everywhere, laughing, playing, dancing… cats lounged on roofs, everything was merry, happy, bright… it was great here, really great.

And the view over the valley below was to die for.

"It's great… it's even better than I imagined." He smiled, and when he did so a pair of teenaged girls loitering on the corner shop kiosk stared openly. They had never seen such a handsome foreigner before. "Have you got everything you wanted? I'm really hot."

The two had been roaming around the little hilltop settlement (only a fraction of the size of Rufina even) for about an hour buying things like butter, coffee and wine. Ferdinand bore two heavy shopping bags in his hands, and though he had no trouble with them, in the dry sweaty heat, he really rather would just not.

"Um… yup." After consulting his list, Italy nodded. "We just need a few vegetables."

He had already scrubbed over the Germany incident that morning in his mind. After all, he had Ferdinand now right, didn't he? he didnt need cruel germany, with baby blue eyes and hair that smelled like cool grass on a hot day...

So they carried on uphill, Italy skipping merrily from one person to the next, taking sweets from kids and passing them back to mother he encountered, chattering excitedly, flirting with everyone, and being generally beautiful in every way.

Okay, maybe he was pretending a _little _bit. Acting like he wasn't dying inside, being broken in two… maybe he was faking, that the feeling of being severed from Germany and everything about him didn't make him feel like someone had filled him with stones and pushed him into the valley far below, where he tumbled and rolled over jagged rocks, not stopping until he was a ragged bag of broken bones and bruises in the bottom. But Ferdinand hadn't known him long enough to tell that yet. He didn't notice the smile too wide, or the laugh a little high… it was easier, this way. Because then Feliciano didn't have to try and explain why.

He couldn't explain why.

He just simply could not.

The market where Feli liked to buy his fruits and veggies was little and far at the end of the criss-cross of little streets and when they arrived, he pointedly avoided looking at the small, ancient looking stone water basin he had stood by a few days previous with Germany, making wishes and dropping coins into the sparkling water. Five or six trestle tables were set out around the space, each tended to by elderly people who chatted and laughed amongst each other, playing cards, and singing. He tied his fingers with Ferdinand's and pulled him over to the first one, closest to them, to look at the selection of fruits there. Plums, nectarines, strawberries...

"I need some potatoes, parsley, and garlic. Could you go over there and get them?" he pointed a few tables over. "And I will just sort out the dessert."

Ferdinand nodded, and obliged.

Holy Roman Empire remembered distinctly the time he had come to Italy during the renaissance, to check on his young love. The place hadn't changed much, he realised, smiling when he saw the spread of delicious, fresh greens spread on the table before him. It had hardly changed at all.

The man behind the table gave him a wide, toothless grin, and he nodded, bringing out his neat Italian again. He had really enjoyed learning Italian, finding it a delicious, intimate sort of gesture, and the experience of speaking it 'turned him on' in common terms, though he was insistent it did not.

"_Parsley, potatoes, garlic please. Oh, and…"_ his eye fell on a neat stack of zucchinis by a vase of neat roses. They were slim, long and fresh looking. He rather liked zucchinis. _"One of these too."_ He picked up the zucchini and popped it into his pocket. _"They are my favourite"_

...

A/N: it was my decision to make Germany atheist (actually, he is agnostic, HRE just incorrectly identifes him as atheist) in this fic, because not only is Germany ranked as having the fifth highest population of agnostics (believers in no god/a non-specific god) world wide, it also created an interesting little level of conflict between HRE and himself. ^w^

Yip yip.


	3. Chapter 3

Holy Roman Empire turned on the tap, water splattering out of the pot he was filling and all over his exposed forearms. He swore sharply, and Italy, seated at the table peeling potatoes, laughed as best he could. He felt it was hollow, but Ferdinand didn't notice, smiling shyly and switching off the tap.

"Don't laugh at my misery."

"I'm not, I'm laughing at…" Feli mock thought for a second, and sighed. "Nope, never mind. I'm laughing at your misery."

"Oh haha." The pot was set on the stove to boil, awaiting the pasta soon to come. "Very funny." Wet hands were slipped teasingly around the nape of an olive neck and Feliciano gasped, shoulders hunching. His potato peeler clattered to the table top and a small shriek of genuine laughter spilled from his lips.

"No! Stop!"

"Oh, what? That's right, you're ticklish aren't you…" the fingers raked through the hair at the nape of his neck, and Feliciano shivered

"Yeesssss stop it, ve~"

"What's the magic- oh. Hello."

He froze, glaring hard at the man who entered the kitchen with an empty bottle of wine in hand.

"Hm." Germany grunted, and pulled a face that looked a little like he was trying not to leap across the table and rip his dick off. The mood in the kitchen immediately paled. Italy averted his eyes, suddenly fascinated in his potato, hair across his face to curtain his embarrassment and the tears that threatened to slip down his cheeks. The wine bottle was slammed on the table, and Germany left, back to his bedroom and the open suitcase on the bed, his clothes neatly folded and set inside with tetris-ine neatness. He had booked a flight for the next morning, the soonest he could get. Feliciano and his gigolo could stay here by themselves for the remainder of the holiday, he didn't give a _fuck_.

Fiercely, he shut his suitcase and ripped the zippers closed.

He wouldn't cry.

He wouldn't.

…

"Ve~ are you ready?" Feliciano hugged his towel to his chest and Ferdinand smiled, sweeping him with a gentle hand to the door.

"Of course. Let's go, it's a long walk isn't it."

The two were well fed and relaxed, dressed in a tee-shirt and shorts on Feli's part, jeans and loose fitted shirt on Ferdinand's own. The sun was setting, outside, and the fragrance of the evening beckoned them out of the house. Cloying warmth and still air, Feliciano sighed a little sadly, finding himself discontent with the weather here for the first time. A breeze, he thought, would have been nice.

As always, it was bobbing fireflies that lit their path down the little stony passage past the house, glimpses of Rufina below twinkling, the sounds of revelling diners rolling from the little villa below them on the hill face. Italy was shocked at first, when a broad, warm arm twisted around his waist. Because Germany never did such things. He would never…

"So tell me where we are going, mm?"

"Oh." Feliciano was pulled from his thoughts, turning his face up to that of the man embracing him and loosing step for a brief second. "Well, there's a public pool at the top of the hill in the village. On Saturdays, everyone goes there and has a good time… it's so lovely. I think you will love it." He laughed and let his own arm rest around Ferdinand's waist with only the palest twinge of guilt as they worked through the olive groves, making their way to the road climbing the hill before them. "And the people are so wonderful… I was going to go with Germany but…"

"Let's not think about Germany, he's an idiot." A squeeze, Feliciano opened his mouth to defend but clipped it shut again, unsure that was wise.

"After all, he let you go."

Italy flushed and bowed his head, a little uncomfortable but also very flattered. A kiss brushed his crown and he winced, but with a shaky laugh he squeezed Holy Romans waist too, and the finished their ascension in two way silence; comfortable on Ferdinand's part, a little discomforting on Italy's.

The village, when they reached it, was still alive. All along the little street small tables, covered in candles, people laughing and sharing pizzas being brought from houses with beaded curtains pulled back. Every elderly gentleman seemed to have a radio in hand, different groups huddled around depending what music they wanted to hear. The smell of wine lingered like little jewels in the air, and fairy lights were strung from balconies, flags bearing red white and green swaying lazily in the breeze.

"_Ciao Feliciano!"_ almost every woman waved at him, and he waved back awkwardly, unable to raise his hand quite right thanks to his… partners arm.

"_Buonasera."_

He didnt stop walking though. Besides, the pool was just at the other end of the main street, and he could hear the people thre alredy, and the splashing limbs and delighted yells of teenagers making merry in the water.

The square at the end of the street was a differant one, from the one the two had visited that morning, and Ferdiand was overwhelmed by the surreality of it, despite all the things he had seen in his life. It was large, a worn, flower wreathed statue of the virgin mary in the heart, the grass carpeting the small square in the centre lush and glistening. Tall, old stone flats, with balconies hung in laundry, small delis and a little local returant were doing good business in the evening, two large black SUVs wre parked in and around yet somehow, they fit in well. They blended, just as well as the ivy creeping over the corners of the buildings and the galaxy of fairy lights ceiling the space, mimicking the stars above.

The pool was to the left, a break in the buildings, fenced off by low wrought iron sans a gate, and boasting a view over the valley below. Feliciano brightened at seeing it, tugging excitedly on Ferdinad's shirt and skipping the two to entrance, pulling off his shirt as he went. Holy rome realised with a strat he didnt have any swimming gear, but feliciano didnt mind, dropping his shirt and tugging off his shorts so he was standing there in his underwear, hands rubbing his arms in anticipation, smiling a little despite the fact he couldnt shake the oddness about Holy Rome NOT remarking on his sudden stripping, and indeed, after a moment of bewilderment, shrugging, and stripping off too.

"When in Rome, do as the romans..." a wry smile, it took Italy a second to get the joke, but he graced a laugh anyway, and burshed his hair off his face.

"Quickly, I want to get in."

"Get in then," Ferdinand worked with his fly, a little aggitated with the zipper, and Feli shrugged, obligingly, and looked for a spare space in the reasonably sized pool. He didnt even glance at the view, so accustomed to the flawlessness, and he didnt think for a second, like Holy Rome, that it was so wonderous, so beautiful, that it was the kind of thing one only ever read about. The kind of thing that could only occur in ones wildest little dreams. Like the body of the man flexing and diving in, breaking the surface again and glimmering, hair slick and clawing his pretty face save for one pert curl bouncing happily as he bobed in the water.

"Come on." Italy swum to the side of the pool, wiping water off his face andtossing tenderils of hair back. "it's really warm."

"okay, okay, I'm coming." overwhelmed by a wave of affection and want, Ferdinand kicked his clothes into a pile with Felicano's and their towels (hoping they wouldn't get lost along wth everyone elses cast all over the side and hung carelessly over the fence) and flexed, approaching the side of the pool. In the gint of evening, his skin was ghostly, his blonde hair metalic and radient. Muscles rippled, the rosary over his breast brought him to the attention of many female swimmers and some older ladies too, lounging by the poolside in foldout chairs and drinking wine. But he had eyes for only one, he had always had eyes for only one.

And he didnt hesitate, upon jumping in with enviable grace and suave, he reached for his objects hand, pulling him close and planting a warm, unhesitant kiss on surprised lips.

For the first time in his life, Feliciano was genuineley embarassed. The suddenness, the intimacy of it in such a public place... it was so unlike Germany, and so unlike everything he was accustomed to.

He didn't like it.

...

Ludwig lay sprawled on his bed in the pitch dark, the stars winking through his open window the only trace of light melting through the gauze of his mosquito net and running like water across his bared, alabaster skin. It wasn't cold, as such, in fact it was very warm, but he did feel, as he was, very much chilled deep down inside, feeling still and sore and stony in the base of his stomach, his aching cruelly denied.

He wasn't an emotional man, beyond that of anger and horniness. He was a soldier, and a man, much too purposeful to bother with such niceties as affection, yet for some reason, the way he felt in that moment, could not be described using his usual frame of understanding at all. It was as though this simplistic way of looking at the world, in black and white and no undertones, was _failing_ him. Leaving him short, not stretching to accommodate his new experiences and fuck it _hurt_. It was like his skeleton was no longer small enough for his skin.

Not like Feliciano. Feliciano, the boy with the wonderful carefree smile and the accent that stole his breath. The boy with the big golden eyes, and the sleepy smile, and the magical hands. The boy (man…) who cared and hugged and was warm and good, who understood him in a way he treasured and couldn't understand. Well, he thought the other had understood…

Maybe that much wasn't true after all. They didn't have much in common, did they? They didn't really speak so much, their relationship as friends had always been shy and rigid on Ludwig's part. He was a shy man, under it all. Maybe that was the problem. He was shy and he was scared, because he didn't understand how a boy as lovely as Feliciano could ever want to spend time with a cruel, wall-like fellow such as himself. A fellow who liked filthy things, who liked little and saw nothing beyond his work as important.

He was not so great a man. Not near so great as the Italian had once thought him. And though Ludwig had been waiting for the day he realised that, the fact it had happened now made him a little grim, and hurt despite the walls of indifference he had painstakingly erected around his heart.

That must be it. He realised flatly. He did care for Feli after all, and he should have said it. He should have said it when he got the chance.

It was too late now...

Sighing, he rolled onto his side and let thoughts of his lost beloved fill his mind. That smile, the bright one that gave everything, and hid nothing, those lips, blushing and brushing the surface of his cheek when they greeted. His hair had lightened since they had been on holiday, a lovely auburn halo. Everything about him was beautiful and endearing. Genuine… that was the word. Italy was genuine. As real as anything got. He made no attempt to hide what he was, put no effort into airs and graces. And that was why Germany _hated_ this new fucker. Ferdinand. His good intentions were about as fake as his bloody religion (Germany was not above making such a low jibe) and everything about him was stuck up and jerky. He looked like shit too. Fancy, not combing his hair back…

Dragging his mind away from Ferdinand (the thought was making him feel sick) he thought back to Italy and wished absently to feel the slight mans arms across his shoulders, two fingers tracing light circles across his shoulder blades, trailing down his spine lazily to the small of his back. Italy was always touching him, he realised, and he had always taken it for granted before. It wasn't until those hands were gone, and that warmth was absent from his skin, he missed it. Like the air he breathed, it was taken for granted until it was taken away.

He could have really used it now.

He pulled his legs up, almost to his chest, and in want of comfort allowed his hand to flit over one bare pec. The texture of his skin was smooth beneath his fingertips, but foreign. It didn't quite have the yield of Feliciano's, nor the airy sort of quality he adored. His hands too, felt strange. Too big, and clumsy. But he did it again anyway, stroking slowly over his nipple in a direct action Italy had always avoided, and feeling the mildest sense of relief from the act. His necklace, heavy with an iron cross and the silver loop he had attained post world war two, slipped to the side against the sheets. A reminder of karma, what goes around comes around, he supposed. The simplistic representation of a structured, circular life he lived where nothing changed and nothing began…

His fingers slipped down the front of his chest, he sighed heavily and nosed his pillow, the smell of Italy and Feliciano filling him totally and numbing all senses but that of longing and loneliness. His finger dipped in his belly button, before stroking the smooth track of hair from there down beneath the band of his cotton boxer shorts and massaging the base of his cock lazily, letting the pleasant sensation relax him and ease him a little, into a delirious little haze of almost hypnosis.

Germany didn't masturbate often. He didn't really need to, for the most part watching porn was enough, the actual pursuit of climax seemed pointless afterwards, what with the way, to him, the arousal was the most pleasurable part of all. He went through most of his life in a state of perpetual sexual arousal, and that was fine, because he liked the feeling of always being a little warm and sensitive down there, ready to go, and he knew from experience he was a good lover. Firm, efficient, and effective. Sex was like business, and you could either laze off it or you could work with it, simplify it, make it something worthwhile and valid.

He'd never once considered actually having sex for _love_, though Feliciano seemed to swear by it whenever the topic arose. Feliciano was a virgin, so so much for that theory working. However…

Germany always blushed a little when he found himself wondering, not so often anymore but once upon a time when they had first met, what having sex with Feliciano would be like. He was little, soft, tender, and emotive, and though at first Germany had been disgusted by the notion, finding his imagination scenario to be totally unlike what he desired in a sexual relationship (what with all the kissing, moaning and crying Italy was bound to engage in) it grew on him. Sometimes, he allowed himself an indulgence, to think about doing it like that, letting himself unwind fully and fall into the rut of the unguarded weak man wanting an orgasm and a wife to kiss him goodnight.

He thought about these things tonight, albeit in a slightly more focused light than usual. This time, he wanted to know what it would actually be like, making this so called 'love' with Feliciano. Though he would probably never get the chance. His fingers looped around the root of his dick, nestling in light, curling hair and squeezing a little, to get it up a bit better, and his legs slipped some to make room for his fist there. Feliciano's hand would be smaller, and more gentle, running cautiously up the length at first and maybe hesitating over the tip, to roll back his foreskin in quiet awe, but with a little mental creativity he could mimic the feeling. To his surprise, fantasy did a lot of the rest.

It was good.

Through the cloak of the darkness inside his eyelids he could make out a form, Feli's form, above him, riding (riding? This was not planned) slowly and patiently, heavy flush black in the low light, eyes glowing half cast with a needful muteness, his body warm. Really warm. Embracing. His hands track over Ludwig's stomach, his head bowing and a curtain of hair falling forward beautifully. His hair curl bobs, and Germany thinks that he has always wanted to touch it…

His fantasy was simple and astonishing, wondrous. It was liberating and devastating, because without warning or intention he found himself lost in it in a moment, when dream Feli smiled he was done, and for a single glorious moment it was all real, and nothing hurt.

…

"Um, Holy Rome?"

"Mm?" Ferdinand tossed his wet hair off his face, looking very handsome in the low light, and Italy winced, neck twinging a little from the way he had, for all intensive purposes, been tucked under the other mans arm.

"… Never mind." He tried huddling a little closer o ease the pain, but chose not to speak up.

Holy Roman Empire and Germany sure may _look_ the same, and have a lot of the same slightly intimidating mannerisms and auras, but by god did they have opposing views on public affection. And affection in general.

The evening was late, the moon the final light glowing in the sky. The darkness had absorbed a mute warmth from the daylight, and together, dripping, the two made their way home to sleep and a warm bed. Ferdinand was weary, but glad. He was counting the minutes until that German heathen was gone. He was savouring the feeling of having his youthful heartache against him…

Feliciano was simply just weary.

It wasn't easy, pretending to be happy. He'd never had to do it before. Usually, he had to pretend NOT to be happy, in case Germany got irritated with him and sent him to walk the dogs or something stupid like that. He was ready, at this time, to collapse in his bed and sleep and sleep and sleep. Not that he had minded the evening he had shared with the other. Not at all. But there was just something that he couldn't shake, when he was trying to relax into the lull of the water and instead finding his waist being touched, his neck being covered in not entirely wanted kisses. And people had stared…

Ludwig wouldn't have done that. Ludwig would have complained of him splashing, trying to get him to ease down, and giving him so much space that he would try, maybe even partially succeed, to draw the German back in. Ludwig would have nodded in gracious acknowledgement at all those who approached him, even though he didn't understand a thing being said, rather than ignore flatly the compliment bestowed by flirtatious young girls and the pleasant conversation older individuals tried to engage him in while Feliciano joined a game of water volleyball.

But no. Ludwig was heartless and cruel. Ludwig was history. Ludwig was nothing anymore… nothing.

Ferdinand did not care to notice the sober mood of his company, their footsteps crunched in the pebbles up the drive, and all he was aware of was Feliciano's warm skin. The smell of it, and the feel of it. and as always happened, with the sinking of the sun, the pale pulse of need in his core concentrated, swelled, and he found himself very much occupied by a internal conflict 'should I? Should I not?'

And then they stepped inside, Feliciano switched on the single, swaying bulb in the cool, white painted entrance and wiggled from his arms. He flexed, his shoulder blades butterflied…

And Ferdinand's Adams apple bobbed, he decided that yes. Yes he really, really should.

Feliciano glanced back at him and gave a weak smile.

"Can I sleep with you again tonight?"

Holy Rome more or less leapt on Northern Italy, and wordlessly, demandingly, stole a kiss so deep it was choking, and so utterly unexpected it left Feliciano dizzy and shocked when they parted with a hot pop.

"I bought a gift for you today in the village."

"Oh." Italy seemed surprised. His eyes widened, he shoulders dropped a little. "Oh, okay…"

"Go get ready for bed and I will bring it in…"

…

The way Ferdinand justified it as he jerked open the fridge and grabbed that delightfully phallicly designed zucchini from the vege-crisper was with blind, absolute perceived love and adoration. Reluctant at first to embrace it, the floodgates were now opened and the hot conviction that Italy was _his_, a gift from God for all those years of temperance and waiting and service, consumed him madly. Of course, being a good catholic man he couldn't actually _sodomise_ the boy. But he knew that as a man, he had natural, god given urges. And so of course must Italy. And he couldn't see anything sinful in reliving those urges together, if they were in love.

Which they were.

He fumbled around along the top shelf of the fridge, managing to locate a jar of Nutella that would do exactly the trick, before shutting the fridge door and hurrying across the small space of the kitchen, through the empty, shadowy lounge, and approaching his room through which he could perceive low lamplight, and the shadow of a luxurious, hallowed body striping off, making itself naked just for him. He hesitated outside the door, breath heavy and loud on even his own ears, and waits until he hears the rustle of sheets and a soft sigh that described Feliciano's actions perfectly in his mind.

Italy was in bed. Italy was naked and waiting for him. Practically begging for him.

The murmur of sheets over skin, however, could not possibly express how little Italy was expecting what was about to happen to him, and how little he wanted it.

Ferdinand took a deep, baited breath, and slipped into the room. He switched the lamp off almost instantly, much to Italy's surprise, and threw the contents of his hands onto the bed where they bounced a little. His hair was still wet, his underpants beneath his trousers (that had been chaffing him the whole walk home, how had he not noticed) cool against his skin when he whipped off his pants. His hair was still damp. So was Italy's. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see it, dark and clinging to opalescent cheeks. Without hesitation he whipped off his damp underwear too and crawled onto the bed.

"Are you ready for your gift?"

Baffled, Italy simply stared. At first, shock left him speechless, a distinct shadow of disease inclined him to sneak his pillow to his chest in defence, but Ferdinand didn't notice, eyes raking the partially concealed body he was about to claim shamelessly.

"Feliciano." He murmured, reaching for that beautiful face and brushing his fingers over the apple of one cheek. "Feliciano… oh God Feliciano you are beautiful…"

"Umm…"

The blush that coloured his cheeks only enforced this opinion. Ferdinand leaned forward, his eyes seeming with a bronzed, brazen lust. A lust that promised to leave Feliciano's bones and flesh in ruins. A lust that drove a wave of shocked understanding through him, but not until too late. Not until Ferdinand had leapt at him, searching for his mouth but finding his jaw instead, unable to muffle the shocked cry it earned.

"F-Ferdinand!"

"Shh… it's okay, I wont hurt you." In desperation, benign intention but malignant effect, he pressed Italy down into the pillows and sealed lips on lips, tongue against tongue, devouring the taste completely. "I've waited so long for this you know?" his hands groped for something he could use to pull back the arms flailing for purchase against his shoulders, in an attempt to push him off. He found only the hem of the mosquito net tucked behind his bed head, and decided in a split second that it would suffice. "Just relax. I promise it will be good."

Italy whined, tears leaking down his cheeks, when his arms were wrenched in the wrong direction entirely and bound clumsily with the old net curtain. The screw bearing it in the ceiling creaked but being as light as he was, it was not strained. Rather the resistance pulled him into a rather awkward half sitting half lying slumped against the headboard position he could do nothing to escape. Ferdinand sat back and surveyed his work, the panicked heaving of Feliciano's chest only adding to the appeal of him there and then.

Feliciano could have screamed. He could have yelled, begged for Germany to come and help him- after all, the other man was only on the opposite side of the living room, lost in a fitful dream. What stopped the frantic call for salvation at the back of his throat? Was it fear that constricted his voice? Numb shock that left him wordlessly dumbened and dizzy? Or was it a sense of shame and embarrassment, that once again he had to call on Germany (Germany who didn't even care about him, for that matter) to bail him out again. From a mess he had made himself.

It was, in truth, none of these things.

What kept him there, ultimately, in relative silence while Holy Roman empire poured kisses over his collar bone and nipples, was more a passive feeling of obligation, denial fuelled by the memories of a well-intentioned but often terrifying child and the guilt of forsaking what he had promised all those years ago he would ever let go of. As the soft whines and protests poured from his lips he found himself only partially believing them, but on the other hand _meaning_ them with all the conviction he had in his body. Italy had only had sex once, and it had been a pleasant experience from what he could remember. At least it had been until Elizabeta found out and beat both him and Prussia in the face with a pan. Although he had found himself, post this, forgiven by Prussia's former girlfriend, Prussia had not. It was an interesting thing though, Italy observed, that infidelity had proven to be beneficial for all parties in this case, Gilbert eventually finding a new lover whom he adored with all his crazy little heart, Elizabeta remaining single, finding time to see to her own womanly needs and embracing the last of her youth, and Italy, of course, who had lost his virginity and learned a very important life lesson.

That is, sex with the wrong person wasn't the end of the world. And if Ferdinand turned out to be the wrong person, well…

It didn't matter. Italy didn't have a choice. Ferdinand had to be the right person, and that was that.

He took a deep trembling breath, still unable to contain his choked pleas to stop but not hearing them any more, instead focusing on the curious sensation of having his nipples licked.

It was reluctantly pleasurable.

Feeling terribly embarrassed about this he wiggled in his position, the mosquito net groaning, panting heavily in effort to manoeuvre his body around comfortably.

"Holy Rome don't…"

"Why? When you obviously like it so much." A very dominant kiss to his mouth, Ferdinand raked his hand through Italy's hair from the nape to the crown, pulling out the long, bobbing curl to the side as he did so. This was an unexpected, sensual touch. Italy shivered, head tipping back meekly, and granting access to his throat by teeth and tongue.

It was hot; the sheets were sticking to the naked backs of his thighs.

"H-Holy Rome…"

"Shhh… it's okay." Small, barely sensate kisses traced the shape of softly curvaceous jawbone and dipped over the folds and petals of flushed little ears. Hands scratched, hard enough to leave marks but not hard enough to hurt, over his waist, an Italy still struggled to escape them, unable, distressed. His heartbeat was uncommonly fast, even for one as easily startled as himself, and a faint sheen of sweat was silking his brow and shoulder blades. The scent of it was light and creamy, Ferdinand's subconscious picked up on it almost immediately, and found himself fair sent wild by it. Suddenly his lips and hands couldn't get anywhere near enough. He pulled a hand from Feli's hipbone and splayed fingers hunted blindly through mountains of discarded blankets, the Nutella was located and with ease he pulled back and unscrewed the lid. He found the contents, disappointingly, to be a little firm, but that was no hindrance.

"Open wide…" he requested of his captured boy. A hooked finger dipped into the spread and without warning smudged itself across Italy's lips. He gasped, and the finger dipped in, tasting sickly sweetly of hazelnuts and chocolate, begging to be devoured. Even without licking, the spread softened in the warmth of Feli's mouth, and once wetted, by the time he had finally figured out he was supposed to eat it, Holy Rome had extracted the fingers, smearing them down his body from his chin, down his throat, and dipping finally into his bellybutton. He had a lovely, smooth stomach, Ferdinand thought. Like a woman's.

He nudged Feliciano's chin up with his nose, straddling the awkwardly splayed legs and digging out more Nutella to grate over thighs and stomach beneath him. It was sticky, and the smell thick. And the taste when he pressed his tongue to the origin was just as strong. Slowly, reverently, he followed the lines of it with his lips, licking it off first with a teasing point of his tongue, then the fat, flat pad of it. It tickled, Italy twisted around in his bindings, unable to pull free.

As lips descended over his shoulder, collar, and chest, he couldn't help but feel a little excitement filming on the top of his fear. This was the Holy Roman Empire, after all. How long had he wanted this? How long had he wished to be held, and made love to, by the man he loved?

Never mind that in all his fantasies, Germany had been his lover.

A whimper escaped him as Ferdinand traced the moist tip over his tongue around his twitching belly button, shuffling back on his legs to make more room and nibbling at the skin when he felt the need, leaving understated rosettes of colour in his wake. The sugary flavour of the Nutella filled his palate, and he suckled it up, lips glossing and working down thighs that were in too strange a position to be comfortable, skating by, oh so closely by, Italy's slowly hardening cock but missing it in favour of pushing those legs up more, in an inhuman sort of spread position Feliciano hadn't even realised himself capable of. It hurt his back, and the mute pain it brought was haunting and slow and deep. It deserved a groan, and Holy Rome grinned bearishly, watching Italy's cock twitch and flush a little darker.

Feliciano was not used to such labour intensive pleasure. He had never had to attain a purposeful erection without stroking himself at least half way, and he found the ghost sensation of doing it both mentally and with stimulation to other parts of his body un-pleasant, but somehow horridly addictive. When Ferdinand knelt back, and began licking the back of his left knee messily, he could not muffle the moan any longer, and it spilled in undignified mess from his lips. Tears licked his cheeks, because what if Germany heard, and came in to see what was going on, but Holy Romes laugh was louder. His erection was throbbing, his skin on fire. As a good, religious man he had a lot of suppressed fantasies and desires. He hadn't had a waking and intentional orgasm for almost a century, his sudden loss of control (which he saw as embracing his god given right as a nation) could only be accountable for so much. The fact of the matter was, he was, by nature, a sadistic, sexually despicable man. There was not anything, on any level, no matter how grim and sinful t seemed, he wouldn't consider doing. Within the bindings of holy matrimony, though, mind. Holy matrimony or true love. Which of course, this was supposed to be.

He wished he had some candle wax, maybe a knife or fork, so he could make his little Italy scream a little louder, and wake that blonde demon in the few rooms over. Let him come in, let him rage, and let him see his pet humiliated, and moaning in masochistic bliss for someone else…

Inside his breast, his own blonde haired demon had been unleashed. A cruel light in his eyes, a twisted smile. He scraped his teeth down the back of Feliciano's thigh and forced his leg back yet more, reaching his smooth behind and biting, hard, leaving a hickey in the most humiliatingly obvious plane of his private body.

The pain jerked Feli from the hypnotic numbness he had fallen into with application of mouth to leg, and his head tossed back, banging on he headboard painfully. Dizzy, he tried to make sense of his surroundings, which way was up, which way was down… did this hurt, or did the creaking muscles in his arm sing with tingling pleasure, did the hot bitten patches on his skin sear with delight? His skin prickled where the warm spit left by Ferdinand's tongue evaporated, a sticky feeling filming his skin. He whined as teeth scuffed the orb of his behind.

A finger prodded intrusively and Italy jumped, it was followed by a tongue and he positively _panicked, _kicking against the forceful grip holding him, trying to scream, forget his dignity, but for some reason, some ghastly inexplicable reason, unable. His voice died in his throat, his consciousness frayed like slashed denim. And Holy Rome made no gesture to indicate he noticed, licking that spot again, a little more wetly this time, and bending awkwardly, to access it with more ease. It was no simple task, and he found he had to actually lift Italy's hips to reach. He thanked gracious, generous god for the boys light, almost avian bones.

Feliciano, however, was in his mind drowning in a lake of curses, struggling to breathe, struggling to ignore the surges of pleasure wracking his body in light but undeniable cycles. He was tender, virginal, and fertile, like a budding bloom, and the feeling of having his petals stroked to opening was reluctantly delectable, louche, addictive. The crunch of his back in this position was ignorable, in the face of the pleasure leaking through him from crown to toes, and he could feel himself flutter, throb, and twitch, starved for attention and that elusive _more_.

Holy Rome ate His partner out with conviction, his fringe falling forth and dusting against his perineum, the point of his tongue ducking and swirling and flicking despite the awkward, almost painful pose he was contorted to. Italy was smooth, soft, and clean, and the way he twitched and fluttered betrayed lonely evenings with maybe a vibrator, or a zucchini, much like the one Ferdinand's hand was creeping for, cast on the bed.

Biting the softer, padded flesh around the area, Holy Rome mocked a kiss to the lips, gentle, then deepening, tongue sweeping every inch and daring to venture further, much to Feliciano's tormented delight. The tears that slipped down the Italians face were of the rare, blissful agony variety, and seemed to be endless and as steady as the others licking. A hand pressed his stomach, and began stroking. He groaned, and let his mind blank entirely, his body limped in his bindings. The sensation multiplied, and the keening cry he loosed was wanton and hot, but no less a betrayal than any other that had come before it.

It just felt so good. So heinously good. His erect cock was aching marvellously, dying for attention, touching, dribbling his lust over his tummy and burning dark in the blueish hue of the evening.

Ferdinand growled, and after deciding that Italy as more than wet enough, backed off, his fingers resuming the prodding prying touching his tongue had been performing before. He used two fingers, rubbing, but not stretching, and picked up the zucchini he had located to press to Feli's fattened lips.

"You know what to do."

Feliciano did. He knew well, after so many years of fantasies, he was finally experience what it felt to suck something firm, phallic, and promising to be inside him. He obliged, furious at himself for doing so, and let Ferdinand roll the thing lazily across his tongue and lips, the wetness glistening on the surface when it was pulled away.

"Look at me, Ita." He murmured, moving closer, ignoring the mosquito net creaking overhead. "Look me in the eyes."

Feliciano's brows pulled, but he did so, letting bleary, brazen eyes lock with focused, darkest blue. The colour let in them was broken, conceding, and pleading. They glimmered with want, and the pain he felt between his legs was visible, heartbreaking. Ferdinand focused on this beautiful sigh as he ran the vegetable along the hinge of his thigh, finally pressing it to where it needed to be. Italy shuddered.

More force than necessary was applied upon insertion, and in complaint a silent howl fell from Feliciano's lips, every muscle in his body clenching and synonymously releasing when suddenly something hot and wet was embracing his penis, sucking, something velvet _stroking_ and he came, in a devastating wave, he came, and Ferdinand hissed in contentment and arousal, ignoring the semen speckling his body long enough to press the vegetable all the way in. Feli whined…

"I can feel it," he breathed. "Every millimetre…"

"Don't you love it?"

The item was drawn and inserted again, and Italy's muscles were so reluctant to let it go the grasped and fluttered in gratifying little tremors that had him lost and shuddering. Ferdinand had begun stroking himself by this point, unable to resist any longer, still licking the taste of Nutella off his lips. He worked his zucchini a little, wiggling it around in a successful attempt to find Italy's sinful little trigger, and upon doing so scraping the end over it cruelly, savouring the response he earned. For Italy, still bleary from his release, it was like fireworks igniting again, and a warmth that dissolved every thread of muscle, bone, and dignity he had remaining. He pleaded, he begged, but the words he made were not English, not Italian. They weren't human, and all Holy Rome could hear was rapture coiled with agony, and that suited him just fine.

He was pretty convinced that God had never given so generously, or so good.

The ruthless, templar blood in his veins, originally that of criminals paid and turning gradually to the lucid wine of disciples, boiled, his hair clung to his darkened face and grunting he shoved even harder into Italy, potentially drawing blood, he couldn't say. With it, a veritable scream fell forth, though it faded so fast into oblivion neither was sure it had actually happened, and not a soul was stirred by the rawness and submissiveness within.

"Do you like that?" he growled, biting nipples that were so wildly red they may have licked by the devil himself. "Do you like that, little Ita?"

Italy burbled, his head rolling forward limply, his dry sobs choking every part of him. He felt so good. He'd never felt so good. But then, nor had he ever felt so broken, despiseable, and hurt. His bangs hung forward, swaying in time with the thrusts. His lips had parted loosely, and even the dark inside his eyes was glowing, searing with glutinous white and feathering right around his skull.

"Tell me you like it." Ferdinand pressed the end of the zucchini down, and hauled it definitely across Feliciano's swollen prostate in his extraction. "Tell me you want my dick."

"_H-Holy Rome_…" the name oozed wetly from Feli's tongue "_Fermarlo,si- si prega di_…"

"_Perché_? You like it _so much…_"

"h-ahh~" Italy made a strange, breathless noise as the zucchini was extracted fully, the end of it pressing hard, but not hard enough, against his body that tried futily to pull it back in. The hollowness it left in its wake was horrid, and he choked, shaking his head, his clammy hair fanning and the mosquito net making the most obnoxious noise yet.

Holy Rome, from the corner of hot, lustful eyes, noticed the other man still wore an iron cross around his neck. It was hard to detail, in the dark, but there it was, a black shame glinting against the hollow of his collarbone, the swastika on it (struck out, of course, several times with a sharp knife but undeniably _there_) was even faintly visible on the surface. He sneered, and clawed for it, yanking it so hard the string snapped and casting it with a thunk on the tiled floor.

"you're mine, little Ita. Mine. Forever. Okay?"

Italy nodded desperately, not even listening to what he was agreeing on.

"And you like it, don't you? You _love_ it."

He nodded some more, gasping for breath and thinking through the whirlwind of pain and bliss he _needed something inside him again_.

"Do you want me to fuck you, _Feliciano?_"

He decided that maybe actually he _could_ sodomise the boy.

"Yes!" with as forcible voice he could muster, effectively a bare, hoarse whisper, Italy conceded. He didn't even know who this man was anymore. He didn't care. All he knew was that he had blonde hair and broad shoulders, and that his voice was a smooth rumble that reverberated in all his bones. "Yes I want it! Please, Ludwig, _please_."

Holy Roman Empire froze his hand on his length clenching and the force he was applying to the zucchini increased enough for the tip of it to pop forward and tease again. Feliciano groaned in relief, totally unaware of what he had just said, and the consequences he would pay for it.

Spurred by anger, horniness, and _hurt,_ Ferdinand pulled himself together and threw the zucchini as powerfully as he could away. It hit the wall with a smack, snapping and splattering mutely on the floor. His jaw set, brows furrowed nostrils flaring and he trembled as he shoved Italy even further into his inhuman position.

"Oh you _bitch." _A horrid, fetid growl, coupled with the ripping pain in his chest and the thunder of his ego toppling inside his mind. "You little _bitch_. You will pay for that one. My god you will pay _hard._"

…

Oh Italy felt _beautiful_.

Ferdinand mentioned it for the nth time that night as he worked, fucking the small, wrecked nation as hard as all his strength would allow. The yielding velvet of his body made way for Holy Rome's length, impaling him over and over and drowning in the heat and the tightness that surely only the good God could have graced. Still trussed up, fading between consciousness and a plane of dumbness he couldn't comprehend, Italy kept taking him, his hips loose and his had tipped back, his voice fountianing silent awe. The length of his spread legs was endless, toes pointed dramatically, his back arched in tension blooming and burning and he was dying, _dying_. Had he come yet? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he felt every single inch of Ferdinand inside of him, touching only good spots, and frankly inspiring a nymphomaniac madness in him.

He wanted more. He wanted more, needed more, and burning with pride Ferdinand was happy to give it.

"I-Italia…"

"Nghh…"

Italy grasped the air above him needily, Holy Romes mouth sucking at his neck, his hips shuddering as he felt it swell, he felt his orgasm bloom inside of him as if in slow motion. A single, magnanimous shudder and he was done, his vision blacking and cracking and he dissolved into a loose disgrace of flesh and quivering muscle. Constant vibrations and aftershocks quaked for a while, and Ferdinand grinned wolfishly, his grip on Feliciano's thighs vice like. He too, could feel his climax approach, and he drove in for it, intent, dedicated to reach beyond the limits of anything he had ever experienced before. Feliciano jerked, gradually pulling himself out of the daze and aware, for the first time in a while, of what was actually going on.

"F-Ferdinand…" he could still feel the other man moving in him, and it was beginning to edge on an unpleasant and uncanny sensation. His arms hurt terribly, and he felt disgusting all over. "Holy R-ome…"

"Shh baby I'm… ah…"

"Oh fuck Ferdinand don't!" Italy tried to sit up but he couldn't, thumping back into full consciousness with a start. "Please! Don't come inside pl-"

"Shut up!" Holy Rome brought a hand up to yank Italy's face around, kissing him frantically, to lost in his own flirtation with sensation to put up with such pleas. "Just shut… fuck. Italy… Italy… _Italy!"_

Feliciano whined, the heat pouring inside him hurt, burning mercilessly, but somehow, also, it was good. His stomach leapt, his abdomen muscles clenched and quivered some more and he whined, sinking under the weight of the suddenly docile man collapsing helplessly against him in the aftermath. His head was spinning.

The netted cloth of the mosquito curtain gave one final word of pain before a deep rip split the silence and it fell, fluttering over both bodies, Italy landing back against the headboard with a thud. His arms were suddenly numb with heat and pins and needles prickling in his fingers. Hot breath buffeted his chest.

It was over.

It was over, and he couldn't believe it was over. He could barely believe it had happened…

"Feli…" dreamy eyed and totally placated, Holy Roman Empire slid his hands over Italy's stomach, nuzzling his chest and kissing softly where he could reach. Total tranquillity had taken over his body, and the phantom of his orgasm was still making love with his inner thighs, his blood drowned in endorphins and chemical adoration. "Oh Feli…" a hand swept the fallen curtain of the others face, and gently guided his head down, for a kiss. "That was wonderful."

They lay there like that for a moment, before limply Italy let him rearrange their bodies properly beneath the blankets. More kisses pattered over face and hair and broad hands massaged bruises and kinks they themselves had made.

But Feliciano didn't feel any of it. All he could focus on was the burn in between his legs, and the blank, empty meaninglessness of his life.

…

"… Germany?" his anxious footsteps stirred the man from his sleep, and the weight on the end of his bed convinced him it was not a dream.

"Who is it?" leaping to attention he sat up, his bags everywhere, his under eyes shadowed with the ghost of the semi rest he had been stirred from.

"Germany, it's me. It's Feliciano."

"Fe-Feliciano?" it took Ludwig a moment to make the connection. Not only did his voice sound thicker and distorted in the dark, but he had never heard Italy introduce himself as 'Feliciano' to anyone. He was much too proud of his identity as a nation, and that immediately indicated to Germany that something was very, very wrong.

"Mm."

"… What? Are you okay?"

Italy sniffed and shook his head, but the action was lost in the dark. It was the eerie sound of his sniffling that pulled Germany forward, deep concern totally blanking the anger he was supposed to be feeling toward the other, his sheets rustling a little as he did so.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sombre. A little coldly, what with their earlier words. "Did you hurt yourself? Are you worried about the economy again, because I told you, I will take care of that for you."

Italy shook his head, and upon sensing Germany close enough beside him, he leaped, latching around his neck and clinging, for dear life. Awkward, Germany patted his shoulder, before remembering his one hand was covered in cum and dropping it subtly to his side.

"Erm…"

Italy sniffed and laughed at the same time, braking into cascades of shivers..

"You smell good, Germany." He remarked thickly. "I love your smell."

"…" Germany didn't know what to think. He liked Italy's smell too, noticing it properly for the first time. It was a little off though, he sensed something wrong with it, and casting an arm around his small back he pulled Italy down beside him in bed, and the blankets too, out from under him.

"Here," he murmured, shuffling around and trying to get Feliciano under his blankets. "Come here and … no, not like that. Move your… move your legs. Yes. That's great. There." He tucked the blankets around Feliciano's shoulders and sighed.

"So." He deadpanned, still confused but somehow also happy to have his precious little soldier back. He wasn't about to question a good thing, and it was too dark and late for him to struggle for dignity. "What's wrong?"

Italy shook his head and linked his leg around Germany's hips. He couldn't explain why, but all he knew was that his aching, tired body was responding to his like he had slipped not into another's bed, but a hot bath filled with sweet oil. The wonderful smoothness of Germany's skin was different to Holy Rome's, but it was hard to explain how.

Germany didn't encourage his closeness, but he didn't _discourage _ it per se. he just kind of lay there, and became slowly aware that Italy was naked, crotch digging almost purposefully against his own. But no… that couldn't be right, could it?

He dropped his hands to Feliciano's soft hips, his fingertips sinking into the soft pads of pasta fat that cottoned him there, lovely and gracious. Italy whined and kissed his neck loosely, which had Ludwig astonished. Feliciano didn't even think about it. He just felt it, just like he felt his hands sliding over Germanys cheeks, through his rough sideburns and up in his hair. He felt his chest drawn to Ludwig's, his leg pulling closer and his body melting into blissful safety and warmth.

Germany noticed dully that Italy was suspiciously sticky.

"Feliciano?"

"Mm?" he sniffed deeply, drawing that small as deeply as he could and becoming and extension of Ludwig's body.

"I uh…" he caught a whiff of Feliciano's hair, and the plumy shampoo he used tingled on his palate. His brain shuddered. "… Can I kiss you?"

Well Italy was way, _way_ too happy to oblige. He seeked Germanys mouth eagerly and found, with a pleased sigh, a taste unlike anything he had experienced before. Ludwig tasted a little bitter, and earthy, but clean and fresh and wonderful. He tasted like a golden evening in the grass, and the warm dry sand that gets in ones flop-flops when walking on the beech. He pulled close, the two of them coiling around one another, and Feliciano's sunk luxuriously into the arms of someone, something, he knew he would always and forever be able to trust to never hurt him, betray him, or scare him. It was a stark contrast to the beloved stranger in the other room, but still treasured.

"Ludwig…" his lips moved to jaw, to neck, to collar bone, stringing kisses on shoulders and upper chest as well. Germany couldn't believe what was happening, dizzy with the dreamy surreality of being woken from sleep and the sensation of warm soft lips on his body, he kissed Italy back. His cheeks, his forehead, his hair…

Accidently catching one particular hair in the process.

Feli shivered, totally lost for a moment in the experience of mouth to curl. Sensing the hesitation, a small nibble was administered, and shiver gave way to shudder, something foreign inside of the smaller man just broke, and a slumbering beast was all but unleashed.

Being with Germany like this, bare flesh on bare flesh, was wonderful. He could feel every part of the others body as he attacked it with hands and lips and love, he traced every line, every angle, every knot that joined muscle to bone. Breathing shakily, he pulled away to catch himself before he made a tragic mistake.

"Ludwig, I love you…"

"… I know."

"I've always loved you."

"I know."

"Do you love me?"

After a brief moment of hesitation, Germany nodded soberly, and Feliciano, shy, but utterly entranced by the way that in this light he even _looked_ different from Holy Rome, leaned forward, planting a soft, sweet kiss on his lips. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could feel the throb of Germanys heart through the sensitive, satiny skin, and that maybe wouldn't have been impossible for Germany was, in the moment, nothing but a heartbeat and a chaos of alien, but endlessly perfect feelings that seemed never-ending. He wasn't sure if he had meant to nod his concedence, but he had, and the emotion it had unleashed had blanched him, ignited an inexplicable lust in him. Not a lust for sex, nor a lust for power, or anything really, other than the closeness of this other man and his smile against the curve of his neck. A catch of fingers played on his collar before shifting to the artery in his throat. Italy murmured something when he moved back again.

"It should have been you."

"What?"

"I wish… I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"My first time. I…" he bowed his head, unsure if he was going to cry. "I don't know. It should have been… but it wasn't."

…

Sunday morning Feliciano woke early, feeling better than he had for years almost, curled in the crook of Germanys arm. Germanys watch, cast on the side table, read half past six, though the light shafting through the room was bright like that of midday. He frowned. Just over two and maybe a half hours sleep, yet why did he feel so rested and recharged? He couldn't explain it, and didn't try. Instead, he sat up, the sheets sliding off him, and brushed his fingers through his hair.

He was a little messy, he realised with a ghost of guilt. He had dirtied Germany's sheets…

"Ludwig." He shook the other man, who grumbled something and rolled onto his stomach, face buried in the pillow. "Ludwig wake up."

"What?" he grunted, and the sound of his voice was so beautiful it made the other man smile.

"I… am sorry. About the sheets."

Germany grunted, not knowing what he meant, and too exhausted to even pay attention. He was yet to wake up enough to even realise he wasn't in his own house on a normal day.

"Yay." Italy stroked his bare back lovingly and made ready to get out of bed. "Okay, well I'm going to make breakfast. Would you like something?"

A heavy snore answered, and he giggled, stretching lazily as he slipped out of bed and noting absently that his hips were sore and-

Oh.

His arms dropped hopelessly and a shadow of misery passed over his face for a moment, only really allowing the recollection of _that_ curl over him now. Ferdinand. What was he supposed to do about that? It wasn't like he could just… tell him goodbye, was it?

Italy bit his lip, and glanced around the room only to spot one of Germany's shirts, which he pulled on, and a too-big pair of track pants which, after he tugged up, threatened to slip right down his hips. Sighing, rubbing the small of his back, he grabbed Germany's towel from the chair behind the door and made way through the silent, illuminated house, to the bathroom.

He thought about the matter in the shower. And he thought about it long and hard, slipping a shaking hand between his legs and using his own fingers to get what he could of Holy Rome's cum from his body, getting carried away and then, feeling suddenly horrified with his actions, stopping. He studied the bruises on his wrists, and ran his hands thoughtfully over the bumps on his throat that he hadn't checked the mirror but were almost definitely love bites. Not from Holy Rome either, these ones, but Ludwig, in a trance like state of pre-sleep affection that left Italy wantful and aroused, to fall into heated, luscious rest. He washed his hair, washed all trace of Nutella from his skin with the soap that he hadn't brought with, and Germany hadn't brought with, and so either Lovino or Antonio had left behind a few months back when they had been here. It was a fiery fruit scented affair. Things like passionfruit, mango, peach… he wasn't altogether sure he liked it, but it worked very well to clean his palate. Once he was finished cleaning, he remained there, standing, letting the water run over his body and picturing both of the men still sleeping, unable to make sense between the two.

He definitely loved Germany. He did, and he knew that, and Germany knew that, and nothing could change it.

But also, he wasn't sure, but maybe he loved Holy Rome too. He certainly liked him. Definitely felt an extreme and incredibly strong emotional attachment to him. He was a little upset about what had happened at the time, but now…

He had had sex with his childhood sweetheart. It hadn't been quite like he had imagined, but it was certainly passionate. It had been a little rough, a little unexpected and shocking, but it had been good, and his heart beat faster when he thought about it, and his heart jumped. And now he had thought about it a little more…

It, his first time with someone he felt emotionally attached to, really should have been with Germany, he decided, but it wasn't. And Holy Rome was genuinely deserving anyway, he had promised. And what did it matter, anyway? It was just a word. Just an experience. It wasn't like it was his first _orgasm_, (That had been holy Rome's _ages _ago,) or his virginity. But he didn't need to know that. Nor did Germany. It was long before his time…

Sighing, Italy towelled off and dressed again, moving through to the kitchen and dropping his towel in the laundry as he passed. There was someone sitting at the table already, someone who hadn't been there before, and unable to tell who it was from behind, Feliciano hesitated, before deciding to go with a multi purpose 'touch to the back of the neck' as a greeting.

The person, as soon as feeling it, jumped on Feliciano's hand and pulled it around to plant a kiss on his palm. He smiled shyly, heartbeat fluttering.

_Holy Rome._

"Morning."

"Good morning." Ferdinand tipped his head back, resting it on Feli's stomach, and smiled. He looked happy. Reall, really happy. He looked better than happy, he seemed almost glowing. "Sleep okay? You were gone when I woke up."

"I had a shower." Italy brushed a few strands of blonde of the other mans forehead, tilting his own head to the side. Remorse hinted Holy Rome's expression, he sat up straight and let Italy pass by, to the fridge.

"I'm sorry about… last night." He said, closing the magazine he had been reading and pushing it away. A twinge was the only thing Italy felt at mention of the incident, and he shrugged genuinely, grabbing the milk and a pottle of yoghurt.

"What about it?"

"I went a little too far."

A light laugh (_you think,_ a snide part somewhere deep inside Feliciano spoke) and he peeled his yoghurt, hitching up Germanys pants and leaning on the edge of the counter.

"It's fine." He said, pulling the drawer beside him out and hunting for a spoon. "Really."

"It's just… I wanted you so badly, and you were right there and… you didn't hate it did you?"

Italy shook his head.

"It hurt," he commented "but then it felt good, so no, it was fine. Did you like it?"

"… Of course I did. I love you."

A bright smile.

"Then I don't mind."

Happy that Holy Rome was happy, Italy ate his yoghurt cheerfully under the scrutiny of his (lover?) first crush, bright and perky as always, and wondering if maybe he should go get Germany some breakfast after all.

Ferdinand stood up, and cautiously, still feeling a little anxious, approached him.

"Is there a church around here then," he asked, coiling his arms around Italy's waist and inviting a hug that Italy didn't deliver, being to occupied with his breakfast. "It's Sunday, after all."

"Church…" Came the ponderous reply. "Yes, I expect so."

Ferdinand had to double take.

"… You don't know?"

"Nope."

Well, this came as a mighty big shock to poor, pious Holy Rome, who had always assumed that Italy was also a devout catholic.

"… Why not?"

"Well, Germany doesn't go to church, so…"

Germany.

Ferdinands face darkened almost scarily.

Of course.

"Right." He decided, stepping back and scratching his neck in agitation. "I see. Well, get some nice clothes on then. Because this morning you are coming to church with me."

…

As it turned out, there was about three churches all within about twenty minute walk of the house, and so the two set off not long after by foot, Feli in his own clothes and Ferdinand borrowing an old tee and trousers that had been Germanys (after Feli had lied to him about them being his own) on account of he only brought one outfit with him. The sun was high and creeping higher as they made their way over the other side of the hillside today, to the smallest local chapel, past a winery by the name of 'desert valley'

"Why desert valley?" Ferdinand asked. "Its not very… deserty here."

Italy shrugged. His ass was sore, but he decided not to mention it.

The chapel was small and incredibly old, a bell chiming mass just as they rounded the curve of the road, three cars parked sombrely outside. Stone, nestled among the shade of Cyprus trees and overlooking hills rather than Rufina, it was wonderful. The leaded windows sparkled in the sun, the worn construction stout and humble. A statue of mother Mary, head bowed in respectful prayer, welcomed them through the small doors.

There were maybe seven people inside, all sitting in silence, listening to the preacher at the front by the alter, welcoming the congregation to meet. The two scooted into an empty pew at the back, Italy craning his head around and admiring the beautiful stonework and the coolness of the space, Holy Rome looking sombre, heart calming in the way it always did, when he was in a church.

Smiling a little, when Italy leaned back shoulder pressed to his, he bowed his head and began to pray.

…

Germany woke up at around 1pm, feeling very, wonderfully good. He stretched, rolling over and trying to discern reality from his dreams, remembering distantly that Italy had been here, with him, in this bed, just a few hours before.

"Feliciano?" he sat up, stretching lazily, glancing out the window and grinning when he saw the perfect, endless arch of blue sky above. "Feli, are you…" he frowned, having just seen the state of his sheets.

They were rumpled, as to be expected, white mind for the pale, chocolate milky looking marks here and there, and the cool damp spatters of something around waist height. They smelled strangely sweet, like that sickly Nutella stuff he liked. Hazelnutty…

Germany slid out of bed and pulled the sheets off with him. The wet bits, well he knew hey were obviously cum. He couldn't remember, in the blur of kissing and touching, whether or not either of them had climaxed, but he knew he had certainly had an orgasm alone, and the evidence was right here and drying slowly on the cloth.

A little puzzled he balled them up, and after getting swiftly dressed decided he would put the wash on, and oh- call the airport to cancel his ticket for the flight that leaves- left, a few hours ago never mind then.

He sighed and decided to put the sheets on to wash. Then he would make Feliciano a hot chocolate or something, the kid was probably having a bath or shower, he loved long baths and or showers, and so would be glad for it, when he got out. That Holy Rome guy didn't even factor in anymore. Let him do what he wanted, say what he wanted, Feliciano was _Ludwig's_ and that was that.

But the house was weirdly quiet when he left the room.

"Feliciano?"

No reply.

"Italy?"

Still silence.

He padded through to the kitchen, sheet under his arm, and it was then he noticed the note scribbled in Italy's pretty loopy writing.

_Germany, Gone to church with Holy Roman. Be home after lunch. (there's pasta in the fridge) xox Italy_

Oh.

Germany's brow creased, and he hummed, and although it made him feel a little uncomfortable, he shrugged it off. He licked his lips, yanked open the fridge, and decided to pasta.

…

Italy was getting impatient.

Not grumpy impatient. Just… twitchy impatient. Sitting there, on the hard pew, his bottom still hurt and it wasn't helping.

Pouting a little, he flicked through the prayer book on the shelf in front of him, not really understanding the point behind the seven hundred odd songs all saying basically the exact same thing over and over. His brother, was always the religious one. The church going God worshiping serious one, whereas _he_ was just kind of more…

'Oh yeah, gods cool, I'm a cute little nice innocent piece of shit, and Jesus loves me so yay for Feliciano.'

So he didn't really care about hymns or prayers or anything like that. Tiredness was setting in now, and all he wanted to do now was go home and fall asleep. Maybe with Ludwig, on the sofa, they could watch one of those stupid changing rooms shows Germany liked…

Oh wait, there was no TV at the house.

Oh wait, _Ferdinand_.

He swallowed guiltily and glanced sideways at his company, who was kneeling now, praying devoutly, a string of rosaries working through his fingers.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be with Ferdinand, and it wasn't that he was confused (although somewhere, on a less forgiving and simplistic level, he probably very much was,) it was more that, well…

He had been here at church with the guy all morning, and he felt that really, after what Germany and he had shared the night before, he really should be there, back with him, maybe sorting things out and becoming a little more intimately acquainted. Ferdinand had had his share of attention already, and Italy… his mind was somewhere else entirely.

He couldn't help though, watching him pray, feel a deep sense of comforting affection for the man, who for all his clumsy aggression genuinely seemed convicted to his cause, and well… it was kind of cute, to see him like this. The way Italy remembered him, devout, a little intimidating, but incredibly sweet and good and kind.

Certain digressions aside, of course.

Maybe it wasn't healthy, for Italy to simply disregard his experience like that as a single unpleasant event, or maybe it was just a reminder that people, even nations, were more than just a simple set of definable ideas and values, they were emotional, unpredictable, motivated by good or evil to do things that sometimes didn't fall into the category of black or white, but lingered on another's mind as a more subtle dust of grey. Because really, he knew Holy Rome, and he knew Germany, and he knew they were more alike than either cared to notice, and he knew that they both cared for him very much. Sometimes though, grown men made mistakes. Sometimes, they hurt him, but that was okay, because under it all, he understood that they were good guys. And he cared about them both, genuine.

But Germany… well, Germany was his lover, wasn't he? Holy Rome simply an old, slightly tender crush. For the first moment since the two had met face to face Italy thought with a stab of longing of the days they had been, in his eyes, a single entity. Life would be easier for all if they were. Alas, it was not meant to be.

Someone's heart was going to get broken, it was inevitable, but Feliciano tried to deny it as best he could. Unable to take the anxiety any longer he stood, touching his acquaintance in the shoulder and giving him a shaky smile when he lifted his head and glanced at him briefly with indigo eyes.

"Mm?"

"I think I might walk home now, start getting dinner ready. Okay?"

Ferdinand thought for a moment, remembering that by now the German asshole should be on a plane flying back home, and being relieved of it. He nodded, and reached for Italy's hand.

"Of course, love. I'm going to stay for the afternoon service as well. But stay in the shade okay?"

He kissed the hand, and Italy nodded.

He noticed on his way out of the church that they were the only ones that had been remaining, and that beyond the dusky cool blue of the stone hall, it was searing with both heat and brightness unmatched. Wincing, he glanced back over his shoulder to the praying fellow still in the sanctuary of gods sacrifice. Ropes of sunlight binding the earth in orbit were tethered through the windows to the flagstone floors, the cloying ghosts of incense fluttered in the weak afternoon breeze. Dust swirled in, and Feliciano knew that by the time he got home he would be a melting, sweaty mess.

But he needed the walk, he really did. He needed a moment alone with his sun and his land and his mountain sides, the curling road back home only half as arduous as the path he was transgressing in his life right now.

…

Germany looked up from his third helping of microwaved pasta when the door slammed, setting his book down and craning his neck, to see if it was who he hoped…

"Oh hey Lud," Italy, wandering in in short jeans and a flimsy yellow tank top, seemed almost surreal. Had he ever noticed how slim and endless the boys legs were? Not smooth, but beautiful, feet clad in leather sandals. Had he ever noticed the exact, copper brown tone of his hair? Like it had been wrought from sun-warmed earth. Had he ever noticed that Feliciano had _freckles_, or that his thin lips butterflied at the bow, the peak of one a little higher than the other giving him a sweet, boy next door smile?

"… Hello."

"Sorry I'm late back. Ferdinand _really_ likes praying." He pulled a 'cute but crazy right?' face, and Germanys eyebrows arched. He leant back in his chair, to see…

"Oh, no, I left him behind. He said he wanted to stay for praying and the evening service, and that's not until five."

The large, Tuscan clock on the wall read three twenty.

Germany, Italy noted surreptitiously, passing him by to sit on the other side of the heavy wooden table, looked good too in a perfectly plain kaki green tee and cargo shorts, his hair loose, unbrushed.

Ludwig took a moment to regard his companion, before sighing, and brushing his hair back off his face.

"Italy… Feliciano. You should have woken when you did, and I would have gone with you."

"Silly Germany, you don't go to church." He laughed and reached for the discarded plate of pasta. "Can I?"

A flick of the hand gestured yes, Germany continued.

"Yes but it would have been a nice thing to do together. Besides…" he trailed off, remembering he probably shouldn't speak badly of that other guy. Italy seemed to like him for some reason, and so…

"Besides what?"

"Nothing?"

A puzzled head inclined to the left, Feliciano licked a flick of pasta sauce from his finger.

"No, what?"

"… I don't trust that Ferdinand."

A strange expression passed over the others face, before being replaced almost instantly with childish amusement. But Ludwig didn't miss it. he inhaled sharply, and immediately disregarded easy ramble of

"Don't be so sil-"

"What?" it was his turn to demand now. "That expression. What was that?"

"What expression?"

"That peculiar one you had when I said I didn't trust that new guy."

There it was again, replaced so swiftly Germany could barely be sure he saw anything.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"… Italy." A long, hard look, Feliciano trying and failing to look as innocent as he possibly could, ignored him. His eyes flicked over everything but Germany. He was pushing the pasta around on the plate. Nothing could have been more… guilty, and Germany could see him flushing, beginning to crack under the scrutiny…

"Okay! Okay! Stop staring." Sulking, Italy shoved the plate away and leaned back in the chair, swinging on the back two legs. "If you must know, Holy Rome an I had a small disagreement last night and that's why I came into your room crying."

"… Disagreement? What kind of disagreement?"

"He tied me up and we had sex."

"… he what?"

"It was no big deal," Italy insisted, standing up again and rubbing his underarms briefly to check how wet they were, "we sorted it, its okay." He sniffed his hand, which had come back a little damp, and pulled a face. "Gross… I smell so yuck. I'm having a sho-"

"He tied you up and you had _sex?"_

"I told you, it's not a problem"

Well Ludwig wasn't sure, how to react. He sat there incredulous for a good moment, staring at the man looking so innocent and contented opposite him, and thought of the sobbing disgrace that had tumbled into his bed the night before. Those words… what had they been?

_It should have been you, but it wasn't_.

Of course. That made sense now. The wet sheets, the self applied label 'Feliciano'…

"… He got your virginity, didn't he?"

Italy's face immediately coloured.

"Well…"

"Well nothing. He got your virginity, didn't he?"

"Actually no. but…" he wasn't sure how to finish that, without sounding like a total whore.

And suddenly, Germany found himself feeling all rather betrayed… and angry.

"It was okay?" Feliciano tried, pulling a face and crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "he didn't hurt me too bad or anything. And if it makes you feel any better about it though, it wasn't exactly consensual."

"He RAPED you?"

And now Germany was not just angry, he was mad. He was rabid with fury. By god when he saw that catholic shit he was going to rip his dick off and sodomise _him_ with it, see how he fucking liked it!

"No!" Italy moved to cover for his childhood sweettheart, splayed hand reaching for Germanys to calm him. "No, not exactly."

"So you let him? Like a little sl-"

"No I didn't! Germany, please listen to me! Let me explain. Holy Rome would let me explain!"

This may have been a lie, Italy wasn't sure, but the intention had been to get Germany to stop and let him talk, and fortunately enough, that's exactly what it did. Ludwig didn't want to be second best to a rapist, after all. Anything that sick bastard deadman could do, he could do better. And so, glowering with all his physical strength, he let himself drop back in his chair, regarding the small Italian and resisting the compulsion to crack his knuckles.

"Fine." He managed through the gritted gate of his jaw. "Explain. You have five minutes."

He was already counting.

Feliciano though, had been rehearsing this speech all his way back home. He may have been a ditzy man, a little happy go lucky, seemingly slow, but he wasn't entirely stupid. He knew Germany, and he knew what Germany was like, and he knew, by extension, that the fellow was likely to find out at some stage or the other. Either by himself studying Italy's clumsy deportment or Holy Rome's somewhat overbearing behaviour.

"Well," Feliciano began, "it was like this.

Last night, after you went to bed, the two of us went out, up to one of the villages, and went swimming, and somehow, while he was there, Holy Rome got the idea that maybe… perhaps I liked him in the way that I actually like Germany."

Ludwig rolled his eyes. _That_ didn't surprise him.

"Anyway, when we got back to the house he was being very, erm…" Italy flushed, he had been unable to think of a way to say this without being embarrassed, despite the long walk home. "He was being very sexual with me, if you get what I mean. And we went to bed, and he just kind of… tied me with his mosquito net and… uh…"

"… Fucked you even stupider than you already were?"

"Ye-hey! No!" Italy pouted, and Germany narrowed his eyes. "I am not stupid. Germany, have you always been this mean and I haven't noticed?"

Well, of course, Ludwig had not. He was just feeling a little bit like a naughty, sulking child about now, and frankly he wanted to strike out in whatever way possible. If that meant being cruel to the love of his life, so be it.

"No." he snapped, and Italy raised his eyebrows, leaning away.

"Then why are you being mean now?"

"I'm not being mean, I'm being pissed!" Ludwig sat forward and hooked his finger in a belt loop on Italy's pants. "I'm being _fucking pissed _you little whore! How could you… what were you thinking?" it didn't process in his mind. "Fucking another man, and then coming to me for sympathy!" he stood up, moved by a sudden flare of rage. Feliciano tried to step back, but found that on account of the finger in the belt loop, he could not. His face blanched, because this was not working out as planned. Germany was looking all too scary…

Maybe if he said something about how _bad_ it had been. About how humiliating and painful and how he had cummed too many times for him to remember (was it three? Four? Five?)…

No, no that last thing definitely wouldn't help. But the other two may be worth a try?

"But Germany, don't worry. Please don't worry. It doesn't make any difference to me, its still you I-"

"Don't _worry?_" Germany was insulted. "how could I not worry!" he yanked Italy forward and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him up a little and unintentionally reminding him forcibly of the way Ferdinand had manhandled him the night before. "You stupid, whorey, teasing…" he trailed off. "uh… Feliciano? Are you okay?"

His anger was defused when the boy blanched, face taking on a stiff white colour, body immediately going limp in his arms.

"Feli?"

He caught him in a dead faint.


	4. Chapter 4

"Feliciano. Wake up. Please wake up. Come on…" a tight, anxious voice lulled him from the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness, and groaning Italy rolled onto his side, rubbing his eyes. He wasn't particularly comfortable, half sitting up as he was, and much to his unpleasant surprise he slipped downward rather suddenly upon rolling, and sat up with a splash.

He was in the tub basin of the shower, dressed in underwear, a shallow puddle of cool water (beads of lavender oil skidding on the surface), and lapping at his thighs. His head twinged.

"Germany?"

Germany, a little flushed in the face and leaning in the edge of the tub, looked to him and nodded, confirming it was him and not any unmentionable doppelgangers that may be lingering around the vicinity, offering a damp wash cloth to his ward.

"You fell unconscious." He looked a little guilty. "It was hot, and you were probably hungry, and you fainted."

Italy screwed his brow, trying to remember. Fuzzy scenes, as if overlayed by static, occurred to him. The church, the heated and nervous walk home, the relief at seeing Germany again and the horrible, gut wrenching feeling of having Germany clamp him forcibly, vending him, restraining him and hurting him and oh God he felt a little sick.

"Hey!" Ludwig noticed, moving forward to brush sweat dampened hair of the Italian's face. "Not again! No more fainting today. You little… you shouldn't scare me like that you know!" he didn't look impressed.

Feliciano swallowed and nodded.

"I'm sorry…"

A heavy sigh.

"Don't apologise. It was my fault…" his brow stressed, Ludwig stood and dusted his knees off, the washcloth slipping and slapping wetly on Italy's bare, non-submerged, upper thigh. Feliciano plucked it off, still adjusting to awareness, and glanced anxiously around. There was a towel on the sink, he watched Ludwig lift it, and flick it open with a strong motion in his wrist.

"Are you feeling okay to stand up and come to bed?"

"… I guess."

"I can carry you."

"No, I'm fine I will wa-"

"I can carry you." He repeated it firmly, but softly. Coldly, as though he was angry but trying to suppress it. Which he probably was, come to think of it. Italy swallowed, not having forgotten the events that had transpired an indefinite moment prior.

"Okay…"

Germany grunted.

Oh god, he really had to say something.

Sitting forward when Germany crouched down, he ignored the small wave of nausea and vertigo in favour of a shake of his head and a soft whine to please listen this time, please, which Germany didn't hear and he had to re-iterate.

"Ludwig, lease, listen. I'm really, really sorry, okay? I honestly didn't mean… I just…" his needed eye contact. He just absolutely needed Ludwig to look into his eyes. "Ludwig… look at me. Look at… look at me!" he reached forward, only for the man to turn his chin away in bruised pride. It hurt.

"Germany… I didn't mean for this to happen. I really didn't. I love you, but… you know that Holy Rome… well he's special, okay? He's special, and I know you want me to hate him, and I know I should because yes, he did kind of rape me, but I cant. I can't hate him, and I never could, no matter what you say, or what he does. He was my first love Germany. What was your first love like? Its special, isn't it?" verging on tearing up, "like… they have a special place in your heart. Like they could do anything, and still, some horrible part of you will love them…"

It took Ludwig a long moment of sitting perfectly still, lips pressed together to prevent him from breaking down completely, before he conceded, giving the slightest of barely passable nods.

"Yes." He said, still not meeting Feliciano's eyes. "Yes, I know."

Italy smiled.

"So, do you understand? And you know? You know I love y-"

A soft, stolen kiss cut him off and red faced, Germany dropped the towel over the edge of the bath before standing and stepping away.

"I'm going to have a rest." He said shortly. "there's not much else to do here, is there?"

And he left, the tails of the towel hanging in the cool water, and sluicing slowly upward through the fluffy weave.

…

Feliciano edged into Germanys room naked as usual, his wet clothes cast onto the bathroom floor without a moments thought. His skin smelled a little of the lavender oil, his hair a bit damp from the water. Germany's room was dim, and the large man curled on one side of the bed didn't move when he approached, sitting down, and clearing his throat.

"Um, Germany?"

"Mm?" came the reply.

"I uh…" he looked around awkwardly, at the dresser, the small (shuttered now, to keep put the light) window and the sidetable on which a book and half drunken glass of milk rested. "Is it okay if I lie here with you?"

"Course it is."

Feliciano nodded, still hesitant, but after a moment he shook his head and moved over the bed, lying down at Germanys back. Shyly, he crept his arms around him, pressing against his shoulders. He could feel the soft fump of Germany's heart beating through his body. He was warm, he smelled wonderful, and his body felt lovely beneath felicianos hands. Warm, safe, strong… he thought, unintentionally, of Ferdinand, but not him particularly. More him abstractly, and what had been taken, what was irreplaceable… and valuable. And of course, what it had felt like.

As much as he hated it, he couldn't deny that at the end, it had felt pretty great.

Imagine how great it would feel doing it with someone he trusted, someone who wouldn't hurt him. Who would let him touch and kiss as much as he was being touched and kissed. Having Germany across him, all over him, inside of him.

He shifted uncomfortably, and buried his face in Ludwig's neck.

"Germany?"

"What?"

"… Can we have sex?"

Ludwig froze.

"… What?"

"… Sex. You know… where you… touch me? And I touch you."

He fell silent for a moment, and Feliciano bit his lip, pressing against him.

"How about… we just kiss."

It was better than nothing, and Feli was going to take it.

"Yes, that's fine."

A heavy sigh, the bigger man turned around and made quite an uncomfortable fuss of it too, settling to face Feliciano and reaching up to brush his fingers rustily through his lovely hair. He looked a little less composed than usual, his pale eyes the only thing betraying his inner turmoil, and putting on a brave face for the other he tried to smile. Italy grinned back, a sheepish sort of grin, and traced an elegant dark blonde eyebrow with his index finger.

"I love Germany." He murmured, and Ludwig nodded.

"I know." he placed a small chaste kiss on Feliciano's nose and Italy, in response, wrinkled it, laughing and sliding closer, chest to chest, his hands cupping Germanys chin.

"Does Germany love me too?"

Germany nodded soberly, and Feliciano, shy, but utterly entranced by the way that in this light once again he looked different from Holy Rome, leaned forward, running his hands up the sides of unshaven, pale cheeks. "How many times must I say it more?" his own hands found lodgings on the exaggerated slopes of Italy's waist, stroking the velvety skin there with cautious reverence. It was loving, intimate, and warm, and between them everything was comfort. Everything was safe. Germanys heartbeat was in the danger zone though, and after waiting a few moments it only increased when Italy decided to move things along, and press their lips together half heartedly, in an invitation for more. His lips felt different. They were cooler, smoother, and thinner. They didn't taste so sweet either, but instead pertained an unusual clean sort of flavour he couldn't put his hands on.

It took him a moment to process…

Before almost instinctually he responded, pulling the other man atop him a little sloppily and winding thick, muscular arms around his body. Wiggling in contentment, Italy let his mouth stray from the one urging it, shying down jaw and neck and kissing chest, shoulders, neck, the hands in his hair working it to a tousled disgrace.

"Feliciano stay above the nipples please."

Whining softly, he glided back up, grinding against Germanys thigh purposefully, and getting only a slight squeeze, as far as reactions go.

It was strange, but Italy didn't feel different at all, doing this with Germany. He felt wonderful, held lovingly against the others chest and finally conceding to the stricter, slightly more sedate way of intimacy. He felt like himself, no more or less comfortable than usual, overjoyed at the freedom of expression he found in lips and tongues and hands. He felt innocent, and thought with a soft laugh of his youth. Of days daydreaming about hand holding and sweet words… and a boy who loved him very, very much. If Germany noticed the almost distantly reverent way Italy embraced him, he made no signal. To generous with his holding, and shy and awkward with his mouth, his anxiety faded when he realised that Feliciano didn't seem bothered. The deep, lazy motions of his kiss were a wonderful, hallowed thing. He sunk into them like he sunk into a spa pool or a warm cushy bed. Soon, they were both lost in their own world of reflections, and their own plane of sensation and intimacy and love. Somewhere along the line that plane blended into one, and without warning Feliciano found himself slithering between Ludwig's legs, pressing them wide and sucking through the cloth of his pale yellow boxershorts. Germanys body shuddered, but not in surprise so much as pleasure, still stroking the soft reams of auburn beneath his hands. Spidery finger creapt up the chalky white inside of his thigh, Italy's teeth grazing, licking, his fingertips pressing in slow rubbing circles. The bulge of cock within loose shorts was low, the length of it swiftly swelling and warming to an almost painfully sensitive blush. Hard in his underwear, the tip of his erection peeking from the slid up leg hole of his shorts, Germany cracked open his eyes and looked at the dimmed ceiling. It was blurry, too far away. He let his eyes close again and spread his legs a little more.

"It's okay." He confirmed, sending an excited leap through Feliciano's chest. "You did it, you can fix it."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Excited, Italy leaned back in, closed his eyes and traced the shape of Ludwig's penis through the cloth. His fingers came in contact with the tell tale flesh at the tip, and upon finding it he moved forward, pressing his nose against a quivery thigh, and licked it, the very end, the reaction far outmatching the effort expended to earn it. He licked his lips (which were swiftly plumping) and pressed them there again carefully, easing a little more and a little more in each time. Gentle suction, an unsure hesitance when it came to teeth and tongue, Ludwig held patience with a fair amount of difficulty, his brow creased and his fingers gouging creases into the bed sheets. It was when the smooth surface of canine slipped over his fraenulum that he hissed softly in desire and gestured the other up, pushing him sideways and pressing his legs open and bent at the knees. Germany fit well between them, one hooking crookedly across his hip, and he noticed for the first time that for all the height Italy lacked, his legs were almost disproportionately long and gracious. They were soft skinned, the hair fine and bleached by the sun. A hand ran down the left, finding grip on his ankle, and they flexed easily, pulled up so he could kiss along the inside of lower calf to the back of his trembling knee. Italy, meanwhile, lay there with his arms up and his chest undulating. He looked beautiful, but neither had much time to think on this, the flames of lust smouldering softly but strongly inside.

Though Ludwig had never done this before, it came like breathing, the understanding of what needed to happen, and so leaning forward, letting Feliciano's leg fall back into place, he let all his weight press the other mans body into the bed, his hips rolling up and under, his erection pressing to the warm, smooth intimacies of perineum and behind. It was strange, but even under the weight, with his hands free, Feliciano felt more at liberty than he ever had before, his fingers able to map contours and his lips tasting and exploring. Germanys hands were grabby, needy, and flattering, his motions of mock love making felt _wonderful_. His mind already starry, his own erection ground between two flat stomachs beginning to twitch with anticipated release.

"Feliciano…"

"Germany that tickles!" the sensation of of breath against his ear tingled and was even tangible in his shoulder blades. "Ahhh… stop!"

"Stop what?" he frowned, hesitating with his hip-rolling, only to be cut by a soft, half insane with pleasure half deeply frustrated moan when the words brushed that part of blushing body again. He clicked pretty fast though, and almost smiling latched onto his partners ear with a gentle bite and nibble. Feliciano arched, his leg slipping down and his entire torso quivering with anxiety when Germany extracted himself, to press his head sideways into the pillow and straddle his hips so as to get easier access. Kisses along the side of his neck, and the soft slightly scarred patch of skin in front of his ear, the warmth remaining of Germany's mouth tingled when bared again to the cold, and the tongue sweeping around the inner shell and velvet folds of tissue was wet, hot, and wondrously sensual. The hand that had laced in his hair pulled softly, the hand holding his chin up caressed the arch of throat and left nothing but twinkling pleasure in his wake. Italy was helpless, absolutely stricken with sensation totally different, a million times kinder and deeper than that of having a wild, inexplicable need for cock inside him. He needed lips, he needed hands, he needed Germany's smell, which filled all his senses with a wonderful cottony haze. He needed more kisses, more licking. He was begging, a total mess of bliss and melt as each new zone of pleasure was discovered on his neck and collar, his ear throbbing hotly and coldly in short contractions. Meanwhile, with his hair ruffled, his cheeks pink, and his intentions dedicated, Germany was sinking. He was making his way down, licking over pin-pricked nipples and over the dip of pelvis and thigh and upper leg. As always, the slim limbs were supple and manipulateable, he pressed one up and Italy cried softly in surprise. His tongue slipped down the length, and just before reaching the nest of clean, lightly perfumed hair between his legs, he spared a glance through blonde lashes and a few stray strands of bang. The horizon of Feliciano's body curved gracefully, his chest and stomach white but for the bite marks he had left on his way down, and upon sensing the pause he struggled to prop himself up and look down.

Ludwig had a moment of eye contact in which to think that he looked totally different at the height of arousal, before a desperate pleading expression over took the one of bewilderment and urged him on. The need in those swimming, half cast golden eyes. The way his hair was so ruffled, and his lips, so wet and red like cherries, was wonderful, and he thought of kissing those lips when he began sucking. The firmness of them. The marvellous sweet _taste_.

Italy threw his had back and shuddered his hips, the marvellous all enveloping rapture of Germanys sucking pulling a string of muddled Italian from him. Shaking, he let himself fall backward and lifted his pelvis. He could feel himself edging, his whole frame totally fraught and waiting to just dissolve into the abyss of relief.

"Nghhhh~ Germany! Germany! GERMANY!"

The pained, tearing shouts his orgasm demanded were breathless, yet heavy. And as s single suck voided him of all self control, sweeping him into a tide of unmatched reverence, Ludwig rested his head against the inside of his thighs lovingly, stroking them and feeling the earth shattering contractions that drove the sensation to every single point on the other mans body. He felt cum trickle lazily over his face, and thought that it was warm, but waited until the cries faded to gasps and scratchy breathing, the inhuman muscular clenching ceased and the skin under his hands burst into a cold sweat, before he looked up and wiped it aside.

The bleary, floppy doll quality Feliciano had taken on was lovely, pretty, his breathing easing into a relaxed pan. His expression, even with his eyes closed as Ludwig lowered himself beside him, was radiant. A smile that was so small it was almost imperceptible, a glow of holy contentment stealing over him completely. One eye cracked open and the smile grew, a weak shaky hand sneaking up to feel Ludwig's face in awe, as if to check if he was real. Over nose, cheeks, lips… Germany kissed the boys palm and moved it between his legs, beneath the waistband of his shorts. In silence, holding Feliciano's gaze and unconsciously matching his smile himself, he guided it to his own short but deep orgasm, noticing it but barely registering anything over the closeness of this other body, and the beautiful, happy expression that flattered him gratefully.

Feliciano made mo move to shift his hand from between Germanys legs once he was done, but rather closed his eyes and inclined his head closer, to be drawn near and held, a soft anointing of kisses falling on his crown and ears and lips.

…

Ferdinand sat at the table glaring at Ludwig, suspicious about something, but he wasn't quite sure what. He chewed his pasta salad thoughtfully, before asking with a touch of intended rudeness; "I thought you were leaving."

Ludwig reached for his beer and nodded rigidly. "I was."

"So why didn't you?"

"Because I came here for a vacation and I'm going to have a fucking vacat-"

"Both of you shush please! It's not nice to argue at the dinner table!" Italy banged his glass on the table, glaring at them both and pouting. "Holy Rome, Germany is here because we have sorted out our problems, and Germany Holy Rome is here because he's my close friend and both of you should be nice. Please."

He couldn't think right with all this arguing going on. And frankly, he was beginning to feel a little embarrassed. After all… he had kinda fucked one of them and gotten off with the other in the same space of twenty four hours. He still felt it, that bleary post-coital sort of mellowness that lingered, and he wondered if they could smell it on him. The flood of sex and hormones that he could sense, crackling with the sexual tension both of THEM were emitting, it was, in the kitchen, a great big soup of indecency and lust. And Feliciano? Well, he was the bike.

And he really didn't like the way Holy Rome was glaring at him.

The rest of the dinner passed in awkward silence.

…

Italy sat on the end of his bed, worrying the tassels on the hem of his quilt and fretting mindlessly. He had chosen, after a dinner fraught with unspoken loathing and suspicion, to sleep alone, in the hopes it might defuse any conflict threatening to brew. He could hear Germany's gentle snoring through the wall (he always slept, when he had nothing other to do.) and holy rome had been suspiciously quiet, all evening.

At least until a soft knock on his bedroom door.

Feliciano looked up, wide eyed, and called almost shyly.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?" a deep, romanticised voice called back. Italy nodded before realising the other couldn't see him, and opted to answer a brief "of course", shuffling up his bed and making himself comfortable in a lotus position, pillow hugged in his lap. Ferdinand smiled weakly when he entered, hands thrust into cargo-short pockets, his hair rumpled and cute as always.

"Hi…"

"Hey."

"can I…?" he gestured to the bed, clearly abashed about the whole situation, if his obscenely pink face and worrying frown were anything to go by. Italy nodded, and he sat, a respectable distance away.

"I uh…" he bit his lip, trying to choose his words. "I was wondering if everything is okay."

"Everything is okay? Of course everything is okay. Why wouldn't it be?" Italy thought guiltily of Germany, resting alone in the other room.

Ferdinand shrugged, and stared at the seams in the terracotta tiled floor. It had been bugging him all evening, since he got back from church. Feliciano had seemed great and sweet during the service, holding his arm, smiling contentedly and admiring the church with childish innocence. But ever since he had gotten back and found the filthy atheist asshole still here, he couldn't help but notice little things, small gestures of nervousness and moments in which he thought there may have been something important, he had missed.

The slow, sad realisation had occurred to him with melancholy exquisiteness. The way Italy smiled, how he moved, the way he held himself had the breathless grace of a man totally besotted… This man, this… blossom of perfection, had a heart as pure and deep as they came, and it didn't take a jealous idiot to see that it was totally devoted to the other man. The one _he should have been_, if only he had been there, if only he had hung around. He wasn't sure exactly, what it was about the German that drew Feliciano's eyes across the table at him, that made him perk in his seat when he spoke. He couldn't figure out anything at all appealing about the bossy, haughty, totally frigid man that somehow made him feel like an outdated and shy little boy in comparison, but clearly, Italy could. Something about this Ludwig had totally captivated him. And maybe, that was Ferdinand's fault for not being there for all those years he had promised he would.

He sighed heavily.

"Feliciano…" he really did love that name. it was beautiful. "I am sorry."

"For what?" Came the light reply. "You didn't do anything…"

"Yeah I did. I did everything." An uneasy shift, he swallowed his pride, his fear, and the childish ghost of innocent awkwardness in favour of admitting what he should have all those years ago. "I really am in love with you, Italia… I'm sorry I never told you sooner, and I'm sorry I left you alone. I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to find you earlier, I'm sorry I wasn't there for so much, and as you know I'm sorry for what I did last night. But what I'm most sorry for, the one thing above all other things I wish I could change by being a good person for once in my life, I'm sorry that it's him you love, and not me.

I can be shy, and difficult to put up with, and cruel sometimes. I can be demanding and a little pig headed, but for what its worth, despite all these flaws, there was always one good thing about me and it was you. You made me not feel like a bad person, the way you were always so kind to me, even when I scared you. The way you smiled, the way you offered to help me in whatever way you could. You were a sweet, wonderful kind child, and you are a sweet, wonderful kind man. Innocent and honest and he's lucky to have you. Endlessly lucky to have you. If it wouldn't break your heart I could kill him now, with how much I despise him for taking the one thing I've wanted all my life. I'm sorry I feel that way." He sniffed and raised his eyes to the mirror on the wall, to the side of Italy's bed and above his dresser.

"But I can't change it. I will leave tomorrow morning"

Having said, now, what needed to be said, Ferdinand let the atmosphere lull into silence.

And on the other end, Italy didn't know what to do. He simply sat there, astonished, trying to come to terms with this confession. His stomach had clenched strangely around his dinner, turning it into a cludgey ball of unpleasantness. Suddenly, he felt a little… hot under the collar.

"Holy Rome…" he bit his lip, leaning forward imploringly. "You don't need to go. Please, stay."

He only partially meant it.

In the cooling clarity of his own space, Feliciano had time to ferment his guilt for various things, and wander down roads of reflection through thicket and unsureity, loosing himself in the knots of emotion he couldn't really pick when side by side with Ludwig, or Ferdinand. He thought sadly of the devout, praying man he had seen in the church earlier that morning, scary and shy, for sure, but well intentioned and strongly convicted to a life of black and white. He thought sombrely of Germany, and his no-nonsense, somewhat cold affection. His driven personality, his cleverness, and pride. He thought of himself, caught between attachment and loss, pressed between two planes of glass and second guessing everything he had taken for granted before. He wasn't, at this point, even sure if he believed what he had said earlier, to Germany.

_I love Germany_

Oh, love was such an utterly fickle word…

It was so broad. It couldn't express the delicacy of emotion lacing childhood sweethearts together, and it couldn't define the difference between physical adoration and the un-nameable pseudo-worship that always lingered, inexplicably in his mind, when he thought of the man who had always been by him, always cared. It didn't explain the _different_ love, because for sure the things he felt for each were different, and instead just grouped it all into one great grim clod of emotion that frankly weighed on his psyche like his dinner in his stomach. He couldn't explain that. How could he tell Holy Rome that he didn't want him to go, because he loved him and wanted him to never leave again, but also he wanted him to leave, because he loved Ludwig, and needed him too? How could he explain that love for Ferdinand had been responsible for instant forgiveness and holy grace when it came to cruel and hurtful rape, but also love for Ludwig drove him to feel a lingering bitter resentment on the back of his tongue, for taking what was not his to have? How could he express these things, without sounding mad, to two men who were so pointedly obsessed with a simple right and wrong that they could barely see past their own, flat little emotional worlds.

Ferdinand responded with a disbelieving frown, but the light of hope in his eyes wrenched Italy's heart, and he found himself shuffling over, wanting to do anything and everything to make it okay.

"I like Germany. A lot. But I like you too." Unabashed, and hating himself with how easily he did it, he wrapped his arms around the bigger mans shoulders and gave them a brief squeeze. "I always liked you. Ever since we were little. That's not going away just because Germany and I have a special relationship now."

"… So you two do have a special relationship?"

"No… well, yes. Well, I don't know. It's hard to explain."

"So, last night I raped another mans lover?" the thought filled Holy Rome with a deep, guttural despair. Italy's eyes widened in shock, and he clenched his arms around him even tighter.

"No! Of course not! Don't say such bad things! Holy Rome is a good man, and I know he loves me."

He thought for a moment, staring at the floor, his face on fire and his thumbnails picking idly at his index fingers.

"But… does Italy love me?"

"… Yeah."

He knew he was doomed as soon as he said it, but it didn't stop him from _meaning_ it, with every part of his heart not already occupied by Germany himself.

"I do."

He kissed the clothed shoulder available to him, as it was close and it didn't feel _too_ much like cuckolding, and rested his head on Ferdinand's back. His unfamiliar smell flooded him again. It smelled good, but was still hinted with a feeling of fear, and insecurity… almost insubstantiality. Like he may fade away again, at any moment.

Taking this kiss as encouragement, he pulled Italy right up, pushed him softly onto the bed with a fump, and kissed him as firmly and stoutly on the lips as was possible to do.

"I want to make love to you then. Like I neglected to last night."

The lump in Feliciano's throat at that was difficult to swallow.

"Um…" he clenched his fists in the sheets and shook his head. "I don't think I'm up to that today. Sorry…"

"… Oh."

"But its okay! I can do something else instead. ve~"

Holy Rome barely had time to feel dejected before he was being ushered upwards, his shirt being crinkled impatiently over his stomach, his beloved sliding slowly off the bed to kneel on the floor below.

Feli had reached the point where he just wanted to get this over with, so he could enter the painless oblivion of sleep.

He felt like an absolute, dastardly whore.

Resigned, and a little clumsily, he made his way to the waistband of Holy Rome's shorts and hooked his fingers in, bringing them down just enough to fish out his still limp penis partially, before he was stopped by a sudden, knuckle crushing hand.

"Feliciano, what are you doing?"

"Showing Holy Rome I love him…" with a weak smile, he twisted his wrist free and tried again, extracting a good enough section of dick for him to begin worrying. How did one go about this, if one didn't feel quite the same for _this_ individual as one did for _that_ individual, who they had earlier blown? He didn't feel it was fair, after all, to do it precisely the same for both.

His brother, he thought, always spoke about it like it was second to breathing, all these different methods of sucking a man off. Careless statements about him and Spain's sex life had become so common place that Feliciano actually, shamefully, found himself thinking on them for reference. He put a stop to that immediately, preferring of course to improvise his own 'different' way, what he thought would work best, and maybe get him off the hook faster.

Matter of factly, ignoring Holy Rome's stuttered protests and his anxious tummy churning, he popped the head of it into his mouth. The taste… was weird. Different to Ludwig by miles. Musky, but pleasant. Alluring and a little bit arousing…

He closed his eyes, Ferdinand's hands gripped his hair tight and tugged as he struggled to sit upright on the edge of the bed. Almost instantly, the swelling flesh in Feli's mouth flushed.

"F-Feliciano…"

But unable to respond, with his mouth full of cock, Italy simply 'mm'ed' and ran his hand hard up the inside of clad thighs.

Unable to think straight, or react appropriately, Ferdinand simply let his head tip back in bliss. To have this wondrous creature, kneeling before him _consensually_ with the intention only to give him pleasure, like some magical gift from God, was enough to bring impassioned tears to his eyes. He swallowed shakily, breath ragged, and willed his red face to calm. Easier said than done, mind. He felt, in that moment, rather like he would explode into flame. Like he would become nothing, dissolve into an extension of North Italy's luscious tongue. It was wonderful. He had never felt anything so exquisite in his life.

And Italy obligingly continued to suck, feeling the sudden tension either side of his shoulders, and the body above him stiffening all over, not just between his lips. He would have been lying if he said that Holy Rome's soft whines of bliss didn't satisfy him, and that the sensation of having a hardened penis in his mouth felt anymore awkward, or bad, or wrong than it had that afternoon. He would be lying if he said he was thinking of Ferdinand alone in this instance, and trying to imagine what he must be feeling. He thought of Germany, and the way he had earlier, placed his mouth on him. Was it like that, this feeling? Or was it different from person to person? Did it feel any stronger or weaker, depending on how much attachment one felt to the administrator? Was he doing a good job? He reacted much more strongly than Ludwig had, trembling as though maybe, in the unexpectedness of it all, he was crumbling. Like he was just a teenaged boy being pleasured for the first time.

It was a stark contrast to the side he had shown the night before, the fiery, aggressive and cruel facet of his personality, and although Italy didn't know the word for it he wondered if maybe Holy Rome had something a little… bi-polar about his personality. It would have made sense; what with the way he had been when he was younger. The things he had seen, the things he had done…

Maybe he was a little fragile, like a bowl made out of ground glass. Unlike stable, solemn Ludwig, Ferdinand was a delicate, albeit difficult sort of a man. There was something dangerously indefinite about him, something possessive and reverent and almost maniac, that Italy was both entranced and repulsed by.

Erection standing proud now, thanks to his generous work, Feliciano pulled back and licked his lips, intending to get the thing all the way out and prepared for some slightly sloppier, faster mouth fucking. His lips were reddened and lovely. Ferdinand shifted a shaking, tingling hand to touch them, to see if they were real or the fabric of some marvellous dream…

A small, loving bite warned him off, and he smiled, admiring the boys playfulness

"You are so sweet…" he murmured, fetching a shy but becoming smile. "I love it."

"mm…" Feli did what he had to do with the mans pants and lowered his mouth holistically down over his head and a good half the length, his hands kneading the hair at the base and searching for the soft skin of his testes. It was hot, sexy, and totally unpractised, but Ferdinand was convinced he had never seen anything so amazing in his life. He groaned softly, and opened his legs wider to allow for more space between them. Italy understood this as an invitation to swallow more dick, and as he sat there, on the floor, patiently sucking this man, this… beautiful stranger to climax, he felt torn between both being a whore, and being utterly, totally, raped.

…

Feliciano lay in bed afterward, staring but not seeing anything, the taste of the other still heavy in his mouth. It wasn't a good taste… but it wasn't any worse than Germany's wursts. It was salty, kind of gut churning, but it was somehow also inanely satisfying. He sighed and rolled over, gazing at Ferdinand's face in the semi light.

He had a very handsome, wonderful face… if only he could have seen it then. If only he could have seen _this_ then…

Unable to sleep, he slid out of bed, and sat on the front doorstep instead. It was warm out, and from here, suspended high above Rufina, he could see the stars.

…

Ludwig woke up early, smelling his sheets and his pillow and his own body sweat, before actually remembering that he was a conscious being beyond that of simple sensory experience and opening his eyes. The sunlight that edged in was bright and clean and refreshing, he could hear the rumble of the shower through the beams and floors of the house.

He was happy.

He was happy, and that was a strange feeling. Not that he wasn't usually happy, mind you. Ludwig had a very efficient attitude toward happiness, and that was if he wasn't on the ground broken down with absolute agony (like he had been a few days back, for example) then he was happy and all was well. But this was a different sort of happy to his usual, tolerating sort of acceptance of all things good or shitty. This was actually, genuine _happiness_. That rare feeling he got where he wanted to smile, he wanted to just… be, and he wanted Italy. Wonderful, sweet scented Italy, to touch and kiss and adore just a little bit, before he had to go back and be his ordinary cubic self.

So sighing contentedly he sat up, stretching luxuriously and clicking his back. He was bare, taking to sleeping naked (this was a German man living wildly) and the agreeable warmth in the air was wonderful on his shoulders. Easing out of bed and pulling clothes on, he flexed some more on the way to the door and combed his hair back proudly off his face. The smell of bacon welcomed him into the kitchen, and he did smile when he saw Feli, fresh from the shower (which had been shut off since he woke) and laying the first two cuts of meat into the pan.

"Morning liebe…"

"Don't call me that please." He glanced over his shoulder, to check Germany's reaction, and reached across the counter for the butter. "Did you want a coffee?"

"Uh…" Germany frowned, a little bit offended that his term of affection was shunned, and edged into the room. "Yes please?"

Feliciano hummed, and sidled along to the coffee-machine, to set it to perkalate. He did not turn around, because he didn't want the other to see his drawn expression and shadows under eyes. Also, he wasn't sure that he could look Germany in the face after what he had done. He felt like s slut… and just _smelling_ Ludwig, the musky perfume of a man freshly woken and virile, made him near salivate. His stomach twisted, and he felt a little sick, but if he could have, he would have shoved the man to the floor and fucked him fucked him fucked him until he couldn't get it up any more. It was strange… Feliciano had not, before he had been quite thoroughly _done_, been a really horny man. But that Italian blood, when lit, burned like a wild fire. And fuck he wanted Germany's dick in his ass. He had never wanted anything so bad in his life, especially seeing as the two had not so far had the opportunity to become that close. And _oh!_ What was that, a hand on the small of his back, a kiss nipped gently on the side of his neck, he gasped and knocked the small ceramic jug of utensils he had been using in relation to the bacon to the floor. The vessel smashed, and kitchen tools went everywhere. Stumbling backward, he apologised, and adjusted the loose robe he was wearing, to hide his bare skin from the kind eyes of his almost lover.

Germany had never seen him quite so flustered. A little concerned, he seized his shoulders and administered a brief, firm shake.

"Italy?"

One look from wonderful, jewel blue eyes, and Feliciano Vargas was done. His arms were thrown around his neck; a leg hitched recklessly over the relatively astonished German's hip. Frantic kisses rained on bared, gloriously perfumed neck, and Germany fell against the wall, pinned by the man who didn't have the strength to perform a single push up, unable to get him to move. It would have been dismal, if it weren't so incredibly and somewhat accidentally hot.

He yanked Italy's face up, kissing him with a wild fervour. A light whimper of delight and slim fingers pressed his hair back some more, unable to tame the satiny blonde licks that escaped the prior arrangement. Ludwig held his waist with one hand, and what the hell groped his ass with the other. It yielded wonderfully, and he found himself utterly lost in it, his mind totally impaired and transcending his usually logical mannerisms in favour of unadulterated lust.

"Fuck me…" in an emotive hurricane of his own, Feliciano made demands, begging for more than he was already being given and groaning in delight when a slight inclination toward it being delivered was given, a hand slipping up the back of his robe, and with no nonsense at all exploring over his bare behind and delving between his ass cheeks ambitiously. Fingertips ran over the loosened and flickering place he wanted, and Germany echoed his appreciative sigh.

Things weren't looking bad, for eight am…

At least they weren't, until the bitter smell of something burning fried their palates, and Germany dropped his hand to yank Italy back around.

"The bacon!"

"Oh _crap_!"

…

The two were munching their way awkwardly through platefuls of burned bacon when Ferdinand arrived in the kitchen looking all very pleased with himself and not feeling all that dissimilar to how Germany did, when he rose. The unpleasant scent of charred bacon had, by then, faded, but he could still sort of sense it, just like he could sense the semi-awkwardness in the room. Specifically, the cloudy guilt lingering over Italy and Germanys dejected diseasement across the far side of the table. He frowned, spotted the coffee machine up and running on the counter, and made his way over.

"Morning Italy… and…" a distasteful glance over Ludwig, but digging deep inside himself he found the ability to greet him too. "Germany."

Germany grunted, Italy made a soft, ashamed sort of nose, and suddenly Ferdinand was suspicious.

"Am I missing something?"

"Nope." Sighing, Ludwig pulled himself to his feet. "If you want the bathroom use it now, I'm going to have a shower and I will be a while."

"I don't."

He nodded stiffly and leaving his empty mug on the table, departed.

"… What's with him?" he asked, looking to Italy for answers the youth was not willing to give. A surly (surly?) shrug, Italy stabbed a wad of bacon with his fork and turned to look out the window.

Holy Rome's good mood was instantly diminished.

"Hey, Feli? Are you okay?" brow creased in concern, he sat down opposite the Italian and nudged his hand over the table. Feliciano nodded, still looking like he had just been told he wasn't getting a Christmas this year, and finished eating.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Are you sure, you don't look so…"

"I'm fine!" snapping, Italy stood up, pulling his robe closer around himself. "You aren't helping you know."

"I-"

"Stop being so… _accusing_. I'm going out! Bye."

Unable to meet Ferdinand's eyes, he stalked straight past, and the handsome blonde was left standing around in amazement, wondering what he had done wrong.

…

The gravel on the road he trudged ground underfoot, the heat on the back speckling pinpricks of sweat under the soft gauzy cotton shirt he had pulled on to prevent from sunburn. His leg muscles hurt, and his chest hurt, and he was horny as all hell under the searing early afternoon sun, but Italy carried on up the hill to an unknown destination, trying to organize the millions of thoughts, memories, and emotions all ricocheting around his head. The fragrance of olive trees and sun ripened plums hung like rubies in the still hot air, and as he rounded the corner, passing through a small settlement of just three old stone houses clinging to the hill crag, he flicked jewels of sweat off his brow with graceful olive fingers. The shade of one balcony above him was wonderful, and he wondered if the proprietor would mind he drink from the tap dripping lushly, protruding from the side of the house.

And then he remembered he was the nation of Italy, and that gave him the right to eat and drink anything he liked in the area.

He stopped when he realised that was not at all anything like him, to think such a thing, and withdrew his hand as though the tap handle may have been infected with something.

Frowning, upset at how his mind was beginning to unravel, he carried on. The sun had marked a cruel burn across his freckled cheeks, his hair was bleached paler peach red in the light already, and it hadn't even come one pm. But he wasn't going home. No way was he going home, until he had sorted this out.

Oh Italy was in a _state_. He couldn't tell anymore… was he horny, or was he actually in severe emotional turmoil? He couldn't really tell the difference, both experiences were new to him, the extent of his horniness in the past being a mild admiration of Germany in the shower, and emotional turmoil… well, running out of pasta was never a fun time.

But other than that…

He spotted a winding, overgrown walkway curling off the road ahead, and in a split second decided to take it, along a more treacherous wall of cliff.

"Germany and Holy Rome… god they were gorgeous. He wanted both of them, together, as a single man. Sure, Holy Rome could be a bit aggressive, but Italy was long ago committed to the man, and he couldn't just disregard that. Germany was cold and seemingly unfeeling, but he was gentle, considerate, and safe. He wondered if maybe, to an outsider, the decision would be easier to make, but then immediately withdrew the thought, after all, what right did a stranger have, to make any part of his decision. They knew nothing of his feelings, what its like suddenly have twice as much lust and adoration as he had ever dreamed possible shoved in a body fit to burst. What its like to be torn so fully between the different parts of yourself you cant even think straight anymore. What its like to have to lie, to the two most valuable people in your world, because you were unsure of the truth…

He came across a little nook on his walk, a small dip in the dies of the hill shaded by a large, rustling tree. The filaments of leaves hanging on the branches were not of the delicate green one imagines, but thick and dark and finger-like. The plant was almost a wild cypress, growing untamed and totally disregarding what nature had told it to do. Italy sat beneath it, and envied the tree, wishing that maybe one day he would have the inner strength to say to the world a great Fuck You.

…

"What?" Germany could feel the other man glaring at him from across the room. "Is there something wrong with my hair?"

"No." scowling bitterly, sulking almost like a child would, Holy Roman empire sunk back into the sofa cushions and fiddled with the front page of the magazine on his lap, dog earring it, and then folding back along the crease over and over. Germany at the other side, sitting beneath the window reading a book on 'DIY shoe repair' sniffed and turned his page.

And this was the tension in which the two spent their morning, and much of the afternoon.

There were about a thousand thoughts on Holy Rome's mind, the most prominent of which being the rather rude 'you can leave now, you had your chance' that would have probably gotten him punched, and yet Germany remained… fairly stoic and calm. He didn't seem bothered, flicking through his book and being generally an asshole. This bugged Ferdinand to no end. It was as though… his calmness was self assurance. Confidence, in what he was and the fact he was still here.

"I can tell you are still looking at me."

"I'm not looking at you!" lies, his eyes had strayed back up and were fixed venomously on Ludwig's hands gripping the book. "Why would I? You don't deserve to be looked at by me. Burn in hell."

"Oh, someone is mature."

"Rich coming from you, tantrum boy."

Germanys eye twitched ever so subtly, but he remained calm when it came to turning the page, checking the number, and then setting the book closed and in his lap once he had memorised it.

"I don't throw tantrums." He disliked looking at the man. Every time he did, and Italy wasn't around to distract him, he thought of the bastard _raping_ the love of his life, and the honour that this foul excuse for a man and a nation had instilled upon the other. He was sorely tempted to punch his skull in. "Now please, be quiet, I'm trying to read."

And Ferdinand, huffing like a hen, shuffled around in his seat and folded his arms.

"You just think you are soooo great, don't you?" he asked, and Ludwig shrugged. "Walking around like the king of Europe, with a silver spoon up your backside. But you are a cold man, Ludwig. A cold, cruel man. I can see it in everything about you, from your soul sucking hair style to the rigidity in your shoulders. I was a commander once too you know, and I recognise the traits."

German nodded stiffly.

"I am not denying I am a commander."

"Oh no," Holy Rome shook his head, "that's not what I mean. I mean the way you behave. The way all that lot behave. Frigid, heartless, and undeserving of love. Why do you think I let myself loose so many battles as I did, hm? Why was I not undefeatable, like I should have, for all purposes been? I was a terrible soldier because I knew what it was like to love someone. But not you though. Never you."

Germany gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

"And you know what, _Ludwig_? You have no idea what you are missing out on, giving away Italy. I don't know what sort of agreement you two came to, but I can promise you that you are missing out. People in this world would kill for that man and you… you just sit there and let him leave you by! You fool, you stupid, poor fool. You really have no idea…"

And this was about the point that Germany snapped.

It wasn't just the words he said, that got on his nerves. Oh no, it was Ferdinand's _voice_. He had such a silky, simpering voice, and the tone of it made him fraught with frustration. Never mind the foolishness of what he was saying. What was he talking about, anyway? Letting Italy go… he had never been holding Italy so tight! The two had never been closer…

Oh, Germany realised, aura darkening. He meant _that._

Since Feliciano's dismissal, Ludwig hadn't thought so much on the whole 'sex' thing. He wasn't sure he actually needed a reason to dislike this guy, anyway, and happy to trust his beloved's word he could accept that Italy didn't want to hurt or humiliate his childhood sweetheart. But Italy should have known… Germany was a petty, competitive sort of guy. And having this ponce sit around and claim that he had something, when in face Germany had one better? Well, he couldn't pass that down. He had to rise to the occasion, puff his breast and preen a little, to display his superiority.

"Well good for you." He spoke shortly, narrowing his eyes. "You managed to fuck him. I know. But for future reference, it doesn't count if you tie him up."

Holy Rome blanched in the face, good going, time to strike while the iron was hot…

"But what does count, is when he begs you to fuck him, to put him out of his misery, and then screams your name when he comes like it's the most wondrous thing in the world. You don't know gratification until you know this feeling, _Ferdinand, _so don't sit all up on your high horse."

"That was a mistake." Holy Rome hissed through pressed lips. "He… told you about that?"

"Yes."

"And did he tell you about last night too?"

Germany's superior smile faltered for the moment, but he tacked it up promptly in place.

"Last night?"

"Yes last night, when the little slut went down on me like the whore of Babylon! Oh that little tattling _bitch_!" half driven by embarrassment, half driven by anger at being betrayed, Holy Rome stood up. "That absolute slag! Just… in the name of God!"

But Germany was too busy sitting around, feeling like he had just taken a large bag of rocks to the gut.

By all karmic sense though, this occurrence, revelation, if one wills, was bound to occur though. Italy, far up on the hill and oblivious to the goings on at the villa, probably would have realised this if he thought a little harder, but as it were neither had anticipated any sort of scandal with what they were doing (especially not cuckolding or hoe-ish behaviour) and so as shocked as they were pissed, they remained fuming in silence for a moment, Germany's shoulders quivering in silent rage.

"But," he tried, "that's not right. Yesterday afternoon the two of us made love. We would have done it again this morning if the bacon hadn't caught fire…"

Well, one can only imagine the look only Ferdinand's face.

"You what?"

"Italy and me. We…"

The two men's eyes met, in a rare moment of synonymy.

"What night did you fuck him?" Germany asked, with little hostility.

"One before last," Holy Rome replied.

"And then he came to my room afterward."

"He did?"

"Yes. And then…"

The next morning me went to church."

"When he came back…"

"He fucked you."

"Not qu-"

"Close enough." Fretting now, a little distressed, Holy Rome didn't have room lest to be angry. He drew his shoulders up, severely upset, and started at Germany's feet. "And then last night…"

"And this morning."

Germany, unlike Holy Rome, was not so much hurt, as pissed off.

This was another one of the integral differences between the two.

Ludwig was a hardened man. He was unaccustomed to loosing, strongly disapproving of being lied to and fucked around with, and even though Italy hadn't exactly _lied…_ he had been fucking around on him, and that was not on. Ferdinand, however, was a little more… emotive. He always had been. And although he shared some common traits with what was possibly his distant relative, now he thought about it, such as bashfulness and an awkwardness when it came to romantic matters, but really… he was a bit soft. Almost virginal to the world of a nation, having left it at such a young age, and having only blurry recollections of the hardship and hurt that had stiffened Germany, and made him into what could almost have been heartless. He bruised, and after all the romantic energy he had put into winning Feliciano over…

"I think we are being played."

He nodded in his consention, folding his arms across his chest and biting his lip. Germany sighed.

"I knew it. I knew it was too good to be true."

And Ferdinand had, somewhere inside himself, known that too."

…

"Will you stop? You know that shit doesn't help."

"It makes me feel better, okay?" Holy Roman Empire had been sitting at the table for almost an hour praying, Germany sitting in the lounge room drinking his way to the bottom of a bottle of wine, and the tension in the house was of a different sort now. A waiting one. Soon, Italy would be home. He had to be, he had been gone almost a whole day.

"It's a crutch." He dropped his empty wine bottle in the sink, agitated like someone had just combed all his hair backward. "You are a naive fool if you think that talking to an invisible friend will do anything."

"Alcohol, is a crutch." Holy Rome glared, sitting back in his chair. Germany growled, and turned to lean on the sink.

"I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Hmm." Germany rubbed his forehead and sighed heavily. "So. What are we going to do?"

He earned a shrug, rather than a reply, and it was just as he opened his mouth to say something more, the sound of a door clicked open and both men fell silent.

Italy.

The only reason he had returned home was to change clothes and fetch a hat. He hoped that maybe the other two would have been sleeping, but didn't genuinely believe they would. Far up on the hill, a flattened patch of grass awaited the company of his body again. He was sunburned, and dizzy (bordering on sun-struck) but things were beginning to fall back into place. He was calming down. Maybe another few hours and he would be okay…

"Oh." he stopped upon entering the kitchen, a little startled to see both the men he had spent the morning reflecting on in the kitchen, glaring at him come through the door. "Hello?"

Holy Rome's lips pressed together, his nostrils flaring as he huffed and looked away in obvious hurt and disgust. Germany gave him the filthiest glare he had ever seen in his life.

Instantly, Italy's stomach plummeted.

"Hello." Germany greeted him coldly, the icy atmosphere in the room making the hair on the back of Italy's neck prickle. "We've been waiting for you."

"… oh?" instantly uneasy, he tried to edge back away and toward the door. "Really?"

He hated the look in Ludwig's eyes, it was making him uneasy, almost paranoid, and anxious he tried to look to Ferdinand, for a cue.

He found nothing but lowered eyes, the mans leg jiggling, and it was clear, that Holy Roman Empire didn't even want to look at him.

Italy wasn't the smartest boy in the world. But he wasn't stupid. He was beginning to get an idea about what was going on, and oh god. Oh god no he was _not_ ready for this.

"… What's up?" he asked lamely, crawling his fingers along the wall behind him and gripping the doorframe for support. "You… look a little tired. Shall I make some pasta?"

"No."

Italy winced.

"But you can sit down."

"I don't… I'm kind of busy…"

"Sit _down_." Germany willed him into a seat at the table with harsh blue eyes and limply Italy obliged. He swallowed guiltily when Holy Rome edged away from him, like a sulking child. Germany flared his nostrils, and he too, sat at the table.

"Feliciano." He pented his fingers and tried to find words. He and Ferdinand had both been waiting all afternoon for his return. But were yet to decide what they should _say_ to him. Germany could have almost lost heart, just his beautiful face, his sweet lips and lovely hair… there was only one word for the boy, and that was innocent. Poor, innocent Italy… oh, how beautiful he was. His face was a little sunburned though.

"Mm?"

"Are you okay?"

Ferdinand and Feliciano both, lifted their heads in surprise. This was not the question either had anticipated.

"What?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Are you okay? You stay out of this." He pointed to holy roman warningly. "We still need to chat."

"Um…" wide eyed, Italy looked between the two, but being too shocked and relieved to wonder what was up, he replied "yeah, I'm fine."

"Hm." Germany nodded and looked down at the table in thought. "Very well then. Go take a cold shower, you are burned all over."

With his heartbeat fluttering in relief, Italy nodded enthusiastically and almost ran from the room to fetch his towel. When he was gone, Germany sighed.

"What the… what are you doing man?" Ferdinand hissed at him, cheeks pinkening in frustration. "Are you dumb? You should have shouted the little slut stupid!"

"You try and do it then!" Germany retorted, standing and spotting another bottle of wine on top if the fridge. "You try and shout at that face!"

Ferdinand scowled, knowing he never could.

"You do it! you're the shouty one!"

"I'm the… the what?"

"The shouty one. The brute. The uncultured slob with the fists and testosterone."

"… You are such a _child_."

"And you are a lover stealing _Satan worshiper_."

And Germany decided that while he may not have been able to yell to his heart content at Feliciano, he could with little or no guilt punch this cunt in the nose, instead. It was a good enough compromise.

Ferdinand wasn't expecting this, making a choked noise not unlike that of a dog running into a window, his chair scraping over the tiles on the floor with the force Ludwig applied the fist to his face. He neck snapped back, and had he have been an ordinary human, the blow by all means would have done serious damage.

"You shut up! I'm sick of you, and your superior fucktardation. You are more pretentious than _Austria_ and at least half as egotistical as Gilbert."

"And I'm sick of you and your… everything!" Ferdinand had jumped to his feet, yanking Germanys fist from his face and with equal strength bringing his hand around to whack the large man in the side of the head. "And how dare you hit me! You motherfucker."

Germany caught the blow around the side of his jaw, it jerked his head back and he, surprised by how much secretive power backing it, swung his arm up to grab the wrist and toss Ferdinand onto the table with a heavy thump. The admittedly strong but hot headed former empire was no match for him, and his efficient militant training, and seeing him thud onto the table was grimly satisfying. Though he knew throwing his weight over his competition wasn't really constructive.

"Hey!"

"Don't argue."

"You started it!"

"And I'm finishing it."

"Oh you are just…" dragging himself off the table, Holy Rome smoothed his hair and shook himself out. "You are…"

Well he just didn't know. Poor Ferdinand didn't know anything much any more. Just that he was bruised and hurting, in the way a child does when he stubs his toe, not knowing how to express the pain in any way other than whining. He wanted to punch, and to cry, and Ludwig was just standing there so indifferently it made him furious. Huffing, he spun on his heal and stalked in Italy's wake, hoping that he would be able to scream at the boy and feel better, maybe get an answer, or some kind of closure.

It took Ludwig a second to catch on.

What happened next… was sort of a multi-eventual curve that neither party could quite dissect.

In one foul swoop, Ferdinand found himself crashing into Italy's room, Italy (half undressed and searching for his towel) was blindsided by the door when it slammed open and Ludwig, heralded by the loud complain of pain that merited and the realisation of where exactly Ferdinand had gone, ran to see what had happened. The sight of Italy stumbled across the dresser behind him, having been knocked entirely off his feet, with his hair messed and his eyes wide and his chest bare, struck a strange chord in Holy Rome's already unravelling emotions. There was only the briefest moment of startled eye contact, leaving Germany time enough to make his way at the door, before Ferdinand, for all intensive purposes, threw himself onto the smaller brunette and shoved him down onto the bed. From there, the whole slew of events that unfolded took on a much darker turn.

"What are you doing?" Germany screamed, lunging forward and struggling to pull him off, but Italy, having been so taken by the shock of this incident, he couldn't even resist. Without hesitation, riding the heat stroke and the dizzy lust he had been feeling for a good twelve long hours, he flung his arms up and pulled Holy Rome's mouth down onto his own, the endless length of his leg lifting to twin around Ferdinand's waist. Fierce kissing, all teeth and tongue and fingers in silken dark hair, was possibly the most horrifying thing Germany had ever seen, and starstruck Ferdinand was too mind blown to argue. Oh God Italy tasted sweet, and his hair was soft, and everything about him was whorey and good. He mind had blanked, and as far as anyone was concerned it was his lower half governing his actions now. He did not even attempt to justify himself.

Growling, Germany leapt on the couple and they pulled apart with a pop, but Feliciano only had a rare moment to snatch breath and be even more astonished before he took over, elbowing Ferdinand in the side and slicking along jaw, chin, and wet pink lips, before sucking them against his own and stroking his hands along a squirming Italy's side.

This was a contest now.

It was not just a contest for Feli's lips, so much as a mad dash for his unending affection. The poor child was still too busy trying to work out what was going on, the two men fighting over him like he my just be a particularly morsel of meat, and he whined when dizzy, without warning, he was yanked away once again and another pair of lips marked his chin, mouth, and cheeks. Not happy to give up his prize, Germany skipped not a beat and secured his mouth on a stretch of bared neck. Feliciano whined, hands flailing hopelessly, trying to struggle out of the prison of bodies they had him in, but unable. He was just…

Oh he wanted this! How had he not realised it before? Never in his wildest fantasies did he think that this may just be the answer to all his problems, all his confusion. To have not just one, but both to not need to choose… to be able to indulge in them both, until they blurred together so entirely they were one man. One glorious, golden man, ravishing him with an almost angry ferocity, and a passion that burned like the sun, dragging the sweet sugar into bitter grapes that glowed on curling vines each summer. He was dissolving slowly, turning to gold flakes and raining between their fingers. Forget showers, forget his flattened pad of grass on the hill. This was the moment he had been waiting for all his life. The amazing salvation that he didn't even realise he had been aching for. This was it.

He groaned softly, and threaded his fingers in someone's blonde hair. He genuinely did not care, as to whose it was.

"You like that?" a voice asked, and it was missing the brisk clipped angles of German accent so he assumed it was Holy Rome. "You little ass-slut?"

"Course he likes it." a low growl registered against his collarbone. "two-timing whore."

"G-ermany…" Italy winced, feeling teeth scrape along his throat. "Holy Rome. I can explain…"

Germany scoffed and Holy Rome hissed something, his fingers claiming Italy's still jeaned knee. Both men had forgotten their anger at the other, and when Ferdinand backed off to regard the pink cheeked, heavily breathing little disgrace smeared all over the blankets, Ludwig followed suit.

"Which one?" Ferdinand demanded shortly. Ludwig nodded in concurrence.

"choose. Right now."

Italy's eyes took on great proportions, and despair crashed over him in a great dark wave. His skin was tingling and he felt crazily tender all over, and here he was now staring at two horny men, identical mind the subtlest curve of jawbone and eyes, being asked to pick which one he wanted. Exactly what he had established earlier, when they accosted him, he could not do.

"I…" his tummy was churning something fierce. "I… I can't do that!"

One mans face, he wasn't sure which, darkened considerably. The others took on an expression of hurt, before morphing into an aggressive defiance he hadn't seen for decades.

"Fine," that man spoke in a blunt, spiking accent, "then we will make you choose."

Holy Rome sniffed haughtily and began removing his shirt.

"Wow, are we thinking the same thing, blonde devil?"

"I believe so." Germany was kneeling, undoing the fly of his pants, and Italy choked a sob of un-desire when he realised what was going on, scooting back on the bed and meeting nothing but the unsympathetic headboard, and no escape.

"No," he pleaded, wondering if her was going to cry. "No let me think! Please leave me be!"

"But you liked it so much before." Ferdinand was naked above the waist now, and working to remove his trousers too.

"And I will be honest, I'd rather share you than not have any at all."

"Here here." Holy Rome found this to be the first thing Germany had ever said, that he didn't totally object to. "Ludwig, take off his pants."

"mhmm."

The two men made a formidable tag team, and Italy was unable to escape the possessive strength of even the one peeling his shirts away and throwing them to the ground.

"You want to do underwear?"

"Fuck yes."

"N-"

"Shut up." Germany pushed his hand over Feliciano's mouth. Not roughly, or forcibly, but it startled the boy and he whined long and low in distress, his hips moving uselessly to try and shake the fingers working around them to move his underwear aside. It was ineffective, and his skin prickled and goose pimpled despite the warmth of the day. Both men regarding him had seen this before, the even bronze of his skin, and the shiny auburn curls blooming in the v of his thighs. His soft cock was pale and pretty, the silky skin smooth beneath Germany's fingers when he reached forward and touched it, sliding back his foreskin and earning a whimper of pale pain.

"Shh…" he shushed, feeling sorry for hurting him but knowing he had to retract it if he wanted to avoid pain later. "Relax…"

"Move him forward. He can suck mine."

"What about mine?"

Feli, squirming around in the strangest state of discomfort and naughty pleasure, did not appreciate the way they were talking about him, like he wasn't there, and as soon as he opened his mouth to complain he found Ludwig's fingers slipped inside demandingly. They were large, warm, and strange tasting, like salt and skin and something else that Italy realised with a skin crawling whine was probably the taste of his own dick. Seeing this rubbed Ferdinand up in unusual, not entirely repellent ways. Ancient recollections were stirring, the latent memory of battle, of _wanting_ to battle. To possess, to dominate, to fight.

He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to loose control, and roughly yanked Italy's legs down, straddling them.

"Get behind." He murmured an order to Germany in an unfamiliar tone. "Turn him over, he can suck you off like he's sucking those fingers."

"Mm…" pleased with this, Germany ran his unoccupied hand along the young mans bared throat, not missing the fear glazed lust curtaining Feliciano's bedroom eyes. "Are you ready, sweetness?"

Feliciano wasn't sure if he should nod, or shake his head. He settled on shuddering when Holy Rome's hand slid up his waist, and letting Germany pull his fingers from swollen lips, drawing a glassy string of spit in their wake. He stole a breath, gasping when suddenly he was yanked upward, Ludwig settling on the bed against the headboard, and shoved roughly around. Both men manhandled him into a rough hands and knees position, his bangs falling forward and obscuring his vision and fired cheeks, and with astonishing swiftness his head was forced down between Germanys legs, to pay attention to a familiar, still flaccid cock.

And Feliciano decided that this was what he wanted after all.

Germany and Holy Rome weren't arguing, and that was a good thing, and the feeling of relief that gave him was indescribable. The feeling too, of doing something so distinctly taboo, wrong, knowing that he shouldn't want this but he did want this and oh god he was doing this, made him dizzy and delirious. Maybe he was a slut after all, under everything else. The past 48 hours had definitely been a learning curve for him, that much was fact.

Groaning, he gripped the base of Germany's dick (wow he had a beautiful cock. He noticed it was different from Ferdinand's, in shape and pubic hair, but a little bit thicker. He wasn't sure whose he preferred) and sucked the head into his mouth helplessly. The instant feeling of blood plumping it tingled warm on his tongue. Ludwig gave a contented groan, and glanced quizzically at his blonde-haired companion, who was admiring Italy's ass high in the air with a hungry look in the eye.

"He liked it so much last time when I ate him out." He told Germany casually. "Should I do it again, do you think?"

Ludwig snarled, but was distracted when Italy pulled off, fingers working his foreskin over his wet cock-head, and fixed his lips back again on one of his testicles, lips sucking softly at the skin.

"Any scream you can get from him, I can get louder."

"We will se about that." Confident smirk on his face, without thinking much on feelings beyond that of his inherent horniness, Holy Rome shuffled back on the bed and pinched one of Feliciano's ass cheeks, startling him, and almost causing him to swallow Germany's right testicle. Almost as soon as that shock had passed though, Italy was astonished to feel cool air flutter over normally unexposed areas, fingers prying him open and caressing the line lazily.

"Do you want this then Feliciano?" Holy Rome addressed him with a bitter seductive voice. "Do you want me to lick out your boy-cunt?"

His fingers walked the smallers spine, and both others were so struck by the filthy question it jolted both arousal levels, tugging them to perilous heights and leaving them there, hanging.

"Mphs…"

Germany felt the reply around his cock, and yanked his head off so he could answer properly.

"Yes." Came the breathless response when Italy resurfaced. "Yes I want it."

"Want what? Don't leave his dick like that, whore, jack him off."

At Holy Rome's command, Italy spidered his hand up the inside of Ludwig's muscular legs, grabbing the base of his dick and rubbing it against his stomach. His heart was hammering so fast…

Ludwig decided that Holy Rome may actually be worth his respect after all.

"Yes I want you to eat m-my… my…"

"Your what?"

"My ass." The reply was mumbled shamefully, and in pity Germany combed his fingers through Feliciano's hair. Half cast, lust clouded eyes met his for a moment, and he tried to smile, but no-doubt the effect was terrifying. The fist on his cock became a little fiercer, and he gritted his teeth, when frantic yanks became a painful tug.

The slighter boy between he and Ferdinand almost lost his balance when Ferdinand leaned forward, bending at the waist and slicking his tongue forcibly over the area he had previously been caressing with his thumb.

Germany would have been pissed, about watching some other man orally gratify the love of his life, if it wasn't for the fact that it was so damn hot he could have came all over Feliciano's flushed, pleasure contorted face. The soft noses of ecstasy he was making were driving Ludwig mad, and oh he would have given anything to turn them into moans of his very own name.

"Is it good?" he asked, wheezing, and Ferdinand sent him a cocky look from the small of Italy's back, his hand running up the ridge of his spine. Feli quivered, managing a weak 'uh-huh' and rolling his hips backward, onto Holy Rome's tongue. It was sensual to watch, and having only heard a brief moan of pleasure from his lips Ferdinand kicked it up a bit, his hand shifting to caress the inside of slender bronze thighs. This felt good, the hand edging toward his erection had Italy dipping his hips downward and into it, his head tipping back in bliss. Germany removed his cock from Italy's hand and pressed it to his lips, watching the wet tip of tongue flick forward and swirl around it to savour the slowly pearling pre-ejaculate on his head.

With a loud wet noise, and a whine of complaint from Feli, Ferdinand pulled away, wiping his mouth on the hand not massaging Italy's balls and sneering in triumph.

"Look at that." He murmured, his lips still wet and his hair more ruffled than usual. "Look at the poor little two-timing whore. Do you love cock that much?"

An indistinct moan, that may have been denial but more likely, through Italy's wavering mind, was a plea for more, and Germanys pelvis shuddered, the longing in his loves tone driving him to relieve the boy. Several times, if possible.

He pulled Italy forward and kissed him, not hesitating to thrust his hand up between his legs. Holy Rome hissed in frustration, having just had his prize stolen from him, but decided he didn't mind so much when Feliciano let out the sweetest and most flawless sound he had ever heard. Having Germany's fingers suddenly in him, with little lubrication beyond the final dregs of what Holy Rome had left behind a few days since, was painful. But also it was wonderful. Because it was the thing he had longed for forever. It was the moment in which everything he had never dreamed he could ever have became reality. He was dizzy, he couldn't remember his own name, but there was one thing he did know, one thing he did remember, and that was _Ludwig._

"Oh Ludwig!"

Proud of his accomplishments, Germany smirked at Holy Rome over the smaller body against him, just like he had been smiled at before. Ferdinand, stunned and stung, could only stare. At least until Feliciano's next gasp told him something heartbreaking and wonderful at the same time. Germany had found the child's prostate, if only by an aggressive accident, and he was _not leaving it alone._

"Do you like that?" he questioned, and limply Feliciano let his head nod. Ferdinand, a guttural sort of a man, apparently, rumbled yet another low growl and clamped his hands on Italy's waist, his body shuffling forward, so he was sandwiching the three of them together, against the headboard. His dick was aching, trapped in his pants, and upon bringing it out and letting the length slide inside the shallow cleave of Italy's behind it brushed the back of Germanys knuckles.

This was incredible for Feliciano. Feeling hot breath on his neck, fingertips massaging the one most precious part in his body, and the sensation of a cock between his asscheeks reduced him to a quivering mess. His breath grew shorter, his muscles began to tremble and quiver with tension, and when he came it was a total shuddering crash of sensation, staining the front of Germanys shirt and tearing a luxurious cry from his throat.

"My turn."

He hadn't even finished cumming when he was pulled off Germanys fingers, and thrown around again against his chest. His legs were jerked open, and Ferdinand made a happy home between them, pulling his still twitching former-erection into his mouth with a grim drive to prove himself, and earn a better orgasm than that.

"You think you can still win." Germany spat at him, coiling one arm around Feli's waist, and dropping the other to card through Holy Rome's stressed blonde locks. He propped the Italian man (pleading now for casement, digging his heals into the mattress) up on his hips a little better and curled his tongue surreptitiously around Feliciano's ear. "How adorable."

"I don't think," Ferdinand assured him, masturbating Italy's cock frantically, in an effort to keep it stiff. "I know."

"Do your best."

"Stop it! Both of you!" teary and breathless, Italy broke into their conversation, his lower body spasming and his head tossing. "stop! Let me… please! Stop!"

"No."

"I'm sorry, Italy." Germany kissed his ear. "But this was your fault."

And Italy decided that this was probably right.

He had been a selfish, childish fool. An indecisive heartbreaker, and he deserved to be fucked within an inch of his life for it. He didn't just deserve it, he _wanted_ it. He needed it, to end the guilt, and live out the dreams he had always had, but never admitted too. He was a slut. A whore. a filthy _bitch_. And he wanted a shag.

"L-Ludwig…"

"Say my name when I am the one sucking you off!" Holy Rome pinched his legs and Italy, panting heavily, managed to form the name 'Ferdinand', if only briefly, before a victorious Ludwig jerked his head back and stole his kisses. He didn't particularly care, because as far as he was concerned, both men were the same, a part of the same whole. 'Ludwig' was them both.

The sucking on his dick was becoming urgent, enough to work him up again to a heaving mess of arousal, erotic sighs satisfying all three. He wriggled, wondering if Holy Roman Empire would let him cum again, and if he did, whether or not he would dissolve against Germany. He longed to meld with them, loose himself entirely, and oh he was close. Oh _god_ he was close to that. But he didn't. He couldn't. He had to hold himself together.

He couldn't keep this up for long.

…

Neither man wanted to loose.

After a while, Italy began to feel that maybe he had lost.

Being thrown around like a limp ragdoll no longer provoked any feeling in him but a tired, pleasure clouded despair that maybe this would go on forever, though really it had only been maybe 45 minutes. Orgasm tended to blur ones perception of time though, and he had lost track of how many times he had reached agonizing zenith, though Germany and Holy Rome were keeping fierce tallies, each one struggling to attain harder, or louder.

But not even blonde haired nation-gods could fuck forever. And tension was beginning to sink Ferdinand's shoulders. Ludwig was growing short of breath. At least he too, had had at least one orgasm. Holy Rome's full, flushed cock, looked sore enough to drive a man mad. And he was struggling to get Feliciano to suck it, though it was obvious that this was what he wanted. It wasn't because Feliciano was reluctant mind, so much as a total, beautiful disgrace. He didn't look like he had enough strength to even lift his chin, his long beautiful hair ruffled and out of place, his smooth bronze skin glimmering with sweat and smelling so good it could have driven any man wild with lust. Feeling a strike of empathy, Germany peeked up at the man kneeling by Feliciano's head and pulling on the boys curl, pulling his lips of Italy's inner thigh and reaching a hand up to tip his head back, turning it toward Ferdinand's dick. Greatful, Holy Rome sighed, watching Feliciano's pink tongue curl around Germany's fingers, and groaning when both fingers and tongue rolled over his foreskin woth painful delicacy.

He was begining to think that this Germany wasnt such a bad fellow.

At least he did until, unable to hold patience any longer, Germany sat up, withdrew his hand (Italy's lips clamped down on his penis properly, and preformed a wet, helpless suck,) shuffled forward, and giving one word of warning, (Ready?) plunged his own erection into Feliciano's body, like Ferdinand had been positively dying to do since this session began.

Italy wasnt sure who it was penetrating him, and whose cock wam in his mouth, but _oh God he didnt care because it just felt so good_. He screamed, nails digging into someones thigh, and dying for the heat now corseting him Germany leaned forward, and pulled him into a bud position on his lap.

"Come here," he grunted at Holy Rome. "and get ready to put it in."

"What, with..."

"Yes!"

Ferdinand, too horny to argue, moved forward and leant forward, head of his erection brushing the spot Italy and Germany were joined and tingling. Italy moaned, understanding on some distant level what was going on, but not doing anything to stop it, and stroked his fingers through hair clumped with gel. (Germany, he thought. Germany is inside me.)

Ludwig braced himself. Ferdinand hoped like hell that it would fit...

And Feliciano screamed when something biger was added to the already splitting something cleaving him in half, hurting and wonderful at the same time.

The other two moaned.

It was a tight fit, and it was hot, and it was not exactly wet, save for the cum and saliva of foreplay. The position was uncomfortable, but efficient, and the sensation of having another cock against theirs (Ludwig and Ferdinand respectively) wasnt excatly un-arousing, but peculiar. Holy Rome didnt realise it, but in this position he was crushed right agaisnt Feliciano's good-spot, and every quiver he made was for the Itallian glorious, and wanton.

A soft noise of lust affirmed them it was okay to move, and the competition crested, Ferdinad claiming the first thrust, Ludwig claiming a perfectly synconised second. It hurt Feliciano in the most glorious of ways, and reverantly he curled backward, sinking against Ferdinands chest and folding his arms around Germany's neck. His hips rolled as smoothly as he could manage, in time with the slow fucking he was getting, but he struggled to breathe or relax, and as the motions sped up he begin to tremble, his thigh muscles clenching and his body dissolving at his hips and becoming transcendal, beyond the frame of right or wrong or the concept of seperation.

Ferdinand burried his face in Feli's sweet scented hair when he came, finally, with a spine shattering finality that left him breathless. The cum served as extra lubriacation, and Feliciano noticed only when the cocks inside him began not to grind but glide, and pain became numbness, and pleasure feathered from every pot being pressed and touched and indulged. Germany's ferocity was unmatched now, and through the swirl of fufillment about being taken like this, Italy felt himself approach his final climax of the evening, shudders wracking his frame, his body folding and squirming and his chest spilling a blissful cry that named neither as his one true love.

Ludwig had to bite collar to prevent making a noise when he reached his orgasm, and the three remained like that for a moment, wrappe around each other and quivering, cold sweatting and panting, feeling like they had been this way forever.

...

Italy rested.

He rested curled between the bared chests of two men, lying facing esach other on a bed not their own, and trying to find a clue, any clue, in reflective faces who loved the boy more, and who wanted what, above the other.

"He really likes us." Holy Rome spoke first of them. "Both of us. I'm not sure he can choose."

Not being quite so... realsitic as his counterpart, Ludwig sneered, but he couldn't deny it as much as he didn't like it. He nodded stiffly, burying his nose in Feliciano's hair, and ignoring the fact that the other man had arms around Italy's chest.

"We cant make hin choose. And we shouldnt have..."

"Yes, I know, thank you for pointing it out."

They fell into a cool silence, listeing to the distant sound of itallian summer. Breeze, the rustle of trees, a dog barking far over in the valley... it was cooling, and the sweat soaked sheets across the three of them were uncomfortable, but also rather refeshing.

Still a little sensitive about what they had done, Germany spoke again.

"We are monsters."

"You're a monster!" hot headed Holy Rome retorted, and Germany scowled.

"Shut up, catholic pig."

"No you shut up, rapist!"

"You're a rapist too."

"Well I have every right to rape him, I saw him first!"

Both men realised how immature this argument was at almost the identical moment. They fell silent, and returned to reguarding each other with quietly simmering hate.

But as much as they hated each other, maybe there was some respect. After all, they were a lot alike, as they came to understand, and not just physically. Although Ludwig found it slightly disconcerting, seeing his own hair, nose, eyes and lips on this starnger, it was equally as queer to see (from Holy Rome's point of view) the insecurities and fears that both men had harboured all their lives. Shyness, stubborness, and battle efficiency, above all else was that other thing. That most precious, wonderful thing.

And eternal loving dedication to the one most precious being in the world. Feliciano Italia, and everything he loved.

And Ludwig couldn't hate a man who loved Italy, and Holy Rome couldn't despise a man who had kept his love safe, all these years.

Insteed they lay there, forehead to forehead, distant but at peace, until somehow, they both drifted off to sleep.

But it was only Germany's hand, which Italy had chosen to hold tight beneteth the ruffles and billows of blankets and sheets.

Sometimes, love was a cruel God.

…_fin…_

THE END

Would you believe this was supposed to be a pwp one-shot?

WHAT IS THIS PLOT DOING IN MY PRON?

This is what happens when you give a person with too-much creative juice to write porn, and not enough creative juice to write plot, a pencil.

Holy fuck. -.-

I do not own hetalia or the characters. OTL


End file.
